


I Like You A Latte

by Setkia



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, And A Candy Shop AU, And Chess Is Apparently A Cinematographic Symbol Meaning UST, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Awkward!Jim, Awkward!Spock, Because Every Star Trek Fic Has To Have Chess, But No Tea Shop AU, But This is What Happened, Cadet!Kirk, Chess, Communication Boys, Fluff, Gary is a Douche, I Shouldn't Be Allowed To Call It That Cause I've Never Seen A Full Episode of Community, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Nothing is Really Graphic But There Are Some Undertones of Not Fun Stuff, Self-Esteem Issues, So Think About That Every Time You See Magneto and Professor X Play, Tea in a Coffee Shop, Teacher!Spock, There Is A Sex Shop AU, There Is No Tea Shop AU, This Is An Injustice, This Was Supposed To Be Just Fluff But Angst Joined In, Um While I Was Writing Some More Stuff For This It Basically Turned Into A Community AU, Virgin!Jim, Vulcan Flirting is Weird, jim is a dork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-24 09:06:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 70
Words: 60,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14352345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: In which Jim is the awkward barista who is doing everything in his power to seduce the unapproachable half-Vulcan with latte art.





	1. It's Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You’ve got this. You’re James T. Kirk, you’re in your last year, younger than anyone in the graduating class. You’re a genius. You can do this. Open your mouth, and speak._  
> 
> “Hurk.”
> 
> _Well, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't own anything _Star Trek_.  
>  Jim is basically an awkward, virgin version of TOS!Jim, but he looks like Pine because I can't imagine Shatner younger than 34. Certain elements from AOS are included, but it's mostly TOS (except Spock's sass levels are AOS)  
> 

“Jim?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring.”

The cadet stands up straighter, dusting an invisible speck off his apron before deciding that’s not going to work in the long run, and begins to press random buttons on the register, trying to get his fingers to stop trembling. He lets out a nervous giggle that may be a shriek when the drawer opens suddenly. “What are you talking about, Bones?” He hopes his scoff sounds convincing. It’s probably not.

“You haven’t taken your eyes off the hobgoblin since he entered the shop—”

“Shh! He could hear you!”

Leonard McCoy rolls his eyes at his friend’s behaviour. “Are Earth girls not enough for you? If you’re going to stare that much, just take his order.”

“Don’t need to, he always orders the same tea.”

Bones raises an eyebrow.

“I know your order off by heart too, it doesn’t mean anything,” says Jim hurriedly.

“I’ve known you for a few years.”

“Exactly.”

“You don’t even know his name.”

Jim blinks.

Bones blinks.

“He’s just a good customer, okay?” The blond wipes his hands on his apron, the sweat leaving faint outlines of his fingers across his stomach. “I’m going to … talk to him.” Jim assures himself that it has nothing to do with what Bones’ said. He’s doing this because it’s his _job_ and he’s getting paid for this and— yeah no, there’s no way he can come up with a reason that doesn’t sound like a pathetic excuse.

The customer in question is a Vulcan, seated at a small, two-person table, working on his PADD. He always seems unapproachable given how rigid his posture is. When the blond had begun working at the coffee shop two months ago, it had been impossible to take his eyes off of him.

After Bones had given him a quick tour of the backroom, they emerged to the front, where Gary was nudging another employee, insisting in a not-so-hushed whisper that _he_ take the freak.

Though Jim only had a textbook image for reference, it was impossible to mistake the “freak” for anything other than Vulcan. With large, pointed ears and a slightly green tinge to his face, it was undeniable he was an alien— sorry, _extraterrestrial_. He had taken a special interest in the Vulcan chapters of his Interspecies Protocol class.

Despite the relatively small distance between himself and the Vulcan, he feels as though he’s crossing a football field. It seems to take ages before he stops in front of him, and clears his throat awkwardly.

_You’ve got this. You’re James T. Kirk, you’re in your last year in the accelerate course. You’re going to be the youngest in your graduating class. You’re a genius. You can do this. Open your mouth, and speak._

“Hurk.”

_Well, shit._

The Vulcan doesn’t look up.

Jim can salvage this. “Hi!” His voice is _way_ too high pitched. He clears his throat. “Hello.” Frighteningly deep. But he’s caught the Vulcan’s attention, and he’s kidding himself if he thinks his poor excuse for a greeting that turned into a failure at choking on his own spit went unnoticed.

Obsidian eyes rise to meet Jim’s. He chokes on nothingness once more.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

The Vulcan raises an impressive eyebrow. “You have already said that.”

Jim’s mouth opens and closes. It’s not that he’s intimidated by the man— er, _person_. He isn’t. It’s that Vulcans are known for their superior intellect and logical ways and Jim knows that he looks like an illogical mess right now and— yeah, okay, maybe he’s a _little_ intimidated. In a good way though. “Just felt like repeating it. Can I take your order?”

“May you.”

“May I?” Jim echoes, confused.

“You may.”

“Funny guy.” He spins his pen between his fingers. He needs something to do with his hands. “ _May_ I take your order?”

“I would like tea.”

“What kind?” He already knows. It’s always the same.

The Vulcan opens his mouth, but no words come out. This is unusual. He blinks, his brow furrowing for an instant— just the slightest twitch of his face muscles— before he says “surprise me”.

Jim blinks.

The Vulcan stares back.

The barista is not so conceited to think that a few classes discussing Vulcan society and a thorough reading of the textbook chapter of the planet is enough to make him an expert on the subject, but he’s quite certain that tightening one’s grip on the PADD is Vulcan for _I did not expect those words to leave my mouth._

Jim bows ( _what the fuck is he doing?_ ) and nods. “Can I get your name?” _So I can call you something other than Hot Pointy Ears in my head?_ “For your order.”

Said-pointy eared being blinks. It feels exaggerated, somehow. “Your human vocal chords do not possess the appropriate structure to recreate my name.”

“Er, I suppose you’re right.” Jim had tried learning Vulcan before, fascinated by the language when he read about the species that made first contact in his Early Starfleet History course. Whenever he tries to say any words though, they sound weird on his tongue. He supposes it’s because he’s not _meant_ to say them. “I could try though.”

The Vulcan quirks his eyebrow, ever so slightly. “You wish to?”

“It’s why I offered,” Jim says. “Not to be rude or anything! You’re probably right, it’s probably too complicated for me, never mind. Is there uh, anything else you go by? Some kind of substitution for your name?”

“They call me Spock.”

“Spock.” He likes the sound of it. “Okay.”

He bows again ( _why the fuck is he bowing?_ ) and turns on his heel, hoping to fight the flush that’s rising up his cheeks.

He has so many questions. Who are they? Is Spock a Standard version of his name? Does he have any allergies? Is that why he only orders one type of tea all the time? Does he have something against coffee? Can he and Jim bond as allergy buddies?

_Allergy buddies?_

Jim’s getting ahead of himself. Spock doesn’t know his name, he’s just learnt Spock’s, and he’s pretty sure their little exchange was as uncomfortable for the Vulcan as it was embarrassing for him. He returns to the counter and starts to make his favourite tea, ignoring Bones’ teasing comments about how he’ll turn down the heat if it’s causing Jim so much discomfort.

When he hands Spock his tea, he’s careful to wrap the napkin around the handle. Vulcans are touch telepaths and besides the embarrassment that would surely come from Jim’s own thoughts about his ridiculous crush ( _what is he, twelve?_ ), he doubts Spock wants to be subjected to such illogical human emotion.

Spock takes the cup into his hand and raises it to his lips.

Jim waits.

“You have ceased breathing.”

Jim hadn’t noticed. He exhales, and rubs his hands on his pants. He’s sweating way too much for this. His heart is caught in his throat. He’s pretty sure he’s going into cardiac arrest. He doesn’t need to hear the Vulcan pass judgement on his preferred type of tea, and yet he’s waiting to hear the verdict.

Spock tips the cup. Jim watches as he swallows, his own mouth dry.

“It is … fascinating,” says Spock.

“It’s free!”

_Why. The. Fuck. Did you say that?_

The Vulcan blinks. He’s clearly thinking the same thing Jim is. “That would not be beneficial to you.”

“Ah …” Jim’s mouth muscles have decided that after nearly two and a half decades, they want out. He makes some weird noises as he tries to relearn how to speak, before managing to spew out: “Promotion thing. Teas are free.”

With the way Spock stares at him, it’s like he’s seeing into his soul. “You are lying.”

“Don’t tell my boss?”

Spock frowns. Or at least, Jim _thinks_ he’s frowning. His mouth becomes a bit thinner, if that means anything. “I intend to pay you, as is the norm of capitalist societies.”

“Just take it off of me!” Jim shuts his eyes. His brain chooses the _worst_ way to put things. “I _meant_ take it off my tab. I er, get a discount, as an employee. A free drink every shift. Take it.”

Spock stares at the cup of tea.

“Or don’t!” Jim says quickly. “Don’t want you to feel pressured to do something because I told you to!”

“I feel no such pressure.”

Right. That was presumptuous of him.

“Course not. Uh. Drink it. And erm, make up your mind. If you want to pay for it, just go to the cash. If not, you can just, er, leave. Um ... “ His long study sessions seem to have taken away his ability to handle small talk. His mind is racing with formulas and textbook definitions and test dates and historical facts and the next thing he knows, he blurts out “Broke the prime directive.”

Spock doesn’t blink.

“I mean the er, the prime directive to uh, not interfere with civilized societies. And you’re um, talking to me. So it’s uh …”

Spock tilts his head to the side just a fraction. “In citing a Starfleet order, I am to presume you are a member of the organization, and are therefore aware of the exceptions, thus I must conclude that you are … making a joke.”

“Yes! But the free tea thing isn’t a joke! It’s free. If you want it to be.” Jim should just exit, before this gets any worse, not that it really _can_ get any worse. “I um, I’ll just …” He tries to make a sweeping gesture with his hands, but it ends up so garbled that he and Spock are both wearing slightly confused expressions (Jim in the form of a flushed face as he frantically tries to look at everything that is _not_ Spock, Spock with a head tilt that is slightly more pronounced).

“Not a word,” says Jim as he takes his place behind the counter.

“I wasn’t saying anything—”

“What did I say, Bones?”

The doctor snickers.

Jim wants to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come chat with me on my [Tumblr](https://setkia.tumblr.com/)!  
> Or e-mail me setkia.writer@gmail.com!
> 
> I love talking to readers, seriously! Aside from time differences causing a delay, I'll always reply!


	2. Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There’s just me and Bones hanging around for a bit longer for clean up so …” He bunches the cloth in his hands and bites his lip. “Yup …”
> 
> The one facial expression Jim has come to understand of the Vulcan’s is a frown. “There is a decomposed body with you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter lengths will vary a lot. POV changes occasionally, but it's mostly Jim.  
> Hope you fall as in love with this awkward Jim as I am!

_You can do this. Just because you haven’t really thought too hard about this type of thing since your last girlfriend broke up with you because you forgot to pick her up that one time and refused to make out with her in the library, does_ **_not_ ** _mean that you can’t do this._

Jim is _so_ fucked.

The Vulcan has been sitting in the middle of the cafe for the past three hours, sipping on his usual tea whilst working on his PADD. Closing time is steadily approaching and he has to tell the dark haired man— well, is he a man? He’s not human, so the term doesn’t really apply, or is he being xenophobic by not using it?— wait, no, focus. The point is, Jim would let Spock stay all night, but he’s not the manager, or the assistant manager, or _anyone_ really.

Why does he think this is a good idea again?

“Um …” Jim clears his throat. He’s scared to walk across the room. He moped it recently, and with his luck, he’ll slip and fall flat on his face. “Spock?”

The Vulcan looks up from his PADD. He blinks, expectantly. Or what Jim _assumes_ is expectancy.

“We’re closing soon. So uh, you might wanna get moving.”

_Wow. That was eloquent._

“You do not close for another fifteen minutes.”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but … I uh, I guess not.”

“Do you wish for me to leave?”

“God no!”

_Shit._

Spock tilts his head just slightly. “I fail to see how the figure-head of various Abrahamic religions is of any importance at this time. Clarify.”

Jim chuckles nervously. “I just … er, stay as long as you want. Well, not as long as you want, cause as you said, we close in fifteen, but I mean, that’s stupid, why would you want to stay past closing? There’s just me and Bones hanging around for a bit longer for clean up so …” He bunches the cloth in his hands and bites his lip. “Yup …”

This particular facial expression, Jim recognizes to be the Vulcan equivalent of a frown. “There is a decomposed body with you?”

“What? No, I was talking about Leonard.” It feels _weird_ to call him that. “My friend. Leonard McCoy.”

Spock is still confused.

“He’s a doctor.”

“I do not see the relevance.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Jim sighs under his breath. From the way Spock’s ears perk, it seems as though he’s heard him. “Not that that’s a bad thing! It’s not. I just, er … I’m shit at this.”

“I do not understand what the ‘this’ you are referring to is.”

“Talking … to you,” Jim says, biting his lip. “Interacting with you.”

“We have been engaging in conversation for 2.56 minutes.” He doesn’t miss a beat when calculating the time, confirming the rumour and Vulcans and their internal clocks. “It is, what I believe you humans refer to as ‘small talk’.”

“Yeah, I’m … sort of shit at it.”

“Negative. Contrarily, it is the most engaging conversation I have taken part in today.”

“That … that doesn’t say a lot of good about who you talk to, does it?” The blond’s eyes widen. “Not that I’m insulting who you spend your time with! I’m not, I’m just …” He doesn’t know what to say without sounding idiotic. _Face it, it’s going to be bad either way, just say it anyway._ “Terrible at communicating when it gets late. You can see yourself out?”

“I am not a child.”

“I wasn’t implying you were,” the cadet assures. “I was just … This is kinda awkward, but we usually clean at this time since there’s usually no one around …”

“Am I hindering your plans?”

“No, I don’t mind that you’re here!” Jim says hastily. _Great, that doesn’t sound desperate at all, does it?_ “I just normally put on music out in the front, when I’m cleaning the coffee machine and stuff.”

Spock’s eyebrow raises. “Am I disturbing you?”

_Yeah. My heart’s trying to jump out of my chest, my blood is bursting in my ears, my whole body is trembling like I’m on vibrate, and my tongue and executive function have decided to jump ship._

“Oh, no! Not at all!”

“If you wish to listen to your music, you may.”

Jim stands up straighter. “You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“Oh. Alright then.” Jim takes out his PADD and hooks it up wirelessly to the speakers. He’s stupidly self-conscious about what Spock may think of the music as he presses play.

Glancing sideways at Spock, he tries to gauge his reaction as the first few notes play out. The Vulcan’s face gives away nothing.

“It’s Queen,” Jim says. “You ever heard of them?”

“I have now.” There’s something in his voice that almost sounds amused. Almost. As in, Jim is totally grasping at straws right now. The Vulcan isn’t even looking at him anymore, concentrating on his PADD.

Jim can’t just sing now. He’s not alone anymore. He can’t grab a broom and pretend he’s Freddie Mercury. Even if Spock isn’t looking, he sure as hell can hear him if he opens his mouth and sings.

“You do not need to ‘hold back’ as they say, for my benefit.”

Jim nearly drops the rag in his hand. “I er …”

“You are humming,” Spock says. “You may sing if you wish to.”

“Nah, I’m not much of a singer.” _Tell that to the other tenants. And your shower, you fucking liar._

Despite his best efforts, he cannot keep quiet during the bridge of _Bohemian Rhapsody_.

He ends up dancing along to the music and when he spins around, he freezes mid-note to find there’s an empty seat where Spock had been.

_Great going._

It’s when he goes to turn off his music that the clock informs him it’s past closing.

Maybe it _wasn’t_ his terrible singing that scared the Vulcan away?


	3. Nametag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Technically it’s James, but I go by Jim. I like the way it sounds better, you know? Too much pressure in James, nothing in Jim.” He’s flushed, and he’s turning a burning colour quickly. “I am Jim, yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGES FOR REFERENCE (I used the dates/birthdays from the reboot cause I love the idea of a genius, youngest captain ever Jim):  
> Jim= 24  
> Spock= 27  
> Bones= 30 (about? I'm having trouble figuring out his timeline)  
> Jim is at the beginning of his last year the Academy, taking 3 years instead of 4, not due to a bet, but an eagerness to go into space.

“Thank you, Jim.”

Said-cadet freezes. “Sorry?”

The Vulcan raises an eyebrow. “Is that not your name?”

“No, it is,” Jim says quickly. “I mean, technically it’s James, but I go by Jim. I like the way it sounds better, you know? Too much pressure in James, nothing in Jim.” He’s flushed, and he’s turning a burning colour quickly. “I am Jim, yes.”

As he rings up the Vulcan, it dawns on him.

“How’d you know?”

“To what are you referring?”

“My name. I, never uh, I never told you.”

Did Bones tell him? Did he overhear it somewhere else? Had he gone around asking about him? Did Spock think about him more than was normal of your local barista who remembers how you like your tea?

“It is on your chest.”

Jim stares down at the nametag he often forgets he wears. He’s turning into a tomato. “Ah. That … would make sense.”

Spock looks at him intently. “You are disappointed.”

“I … no,” says the cadet dismissively. He smiles brightly. Too brightly. “Why would I be disappointed? That would be ridiculous. Illogical, even.”

The way Spock looks at him is as though he’s seeing _through_ him, looking at the blueprints that make up James T. Kirk. His dark eyes are taking him apart, evaluating all the pieces that make up the mess that he is, a twenty-four year old cadet with no clue what the fuck he’s doing with his life, knowing only that he burns to touch the stars. He’s finding all the gears and how they work, or why some don’t, and then putting them back together, careful yet unsure if the pieces really lead to the final picture in front of him.

“Illogical indeed.”

He leaves.

Jim can breathe again.


	4. Contagious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dammit Jim, I’m a doctor, not a job finder!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read a couple of articles to try and get a sense about how Vulcan touch telepathy works, and then decided screw it, I'm doing my own thing, so here it is:  
> When Spock's shields are down or he and humans come into contact through clothing, he can feel surface emotions (only with humans cuz they're emotional wrecks)  
> If he touches them skin on skin, it's more of a Professor X, reading your mind sort of thing.

Spock did not read James Tiberius Kirk’s name from the small piece of metal on his shirt.

A few months ago, while verifying that all his students had handed in the correct assignment, the sounds of a loud ruckus originating from the hallway reached Spock’s ears.

“Dammit Jim, I’m a doctor, not a job finder!”

This puzzled Spock, as he did not recognize the voice, and he knows each of the doctors employed by the Academy by name (it is what happens when you are the first Vulcan/human hybrid Starfleet has ever accepted).

“Not a doctor _yet_ ,” said a voice, accompanied with an overwhelming amount of adoration.

His shields must have slipped to cause such emotions to reach him.

“Anyway, as my bestest friend ever, you _have_ to get me a job. Just talk to your boss, or whatever. I can’t get kicked out!”

“Aren’t you a scholarship student?”

“You know it only covers my tuition and textbooks! I’m not smart enough to get a full ride, hence my shitty apartment.”

The voices were getting closer in proximity. Spock reinforced his shields, bracing himself for when they would inevitably be in front of his door.

There was a dramatic sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Suddenly, the voices were _right there_ and through the open door of his classroom, the Vulcan could see a blond, fiercely hugging a disgruntled looking man.

“I swear to God, James Tiberius Kirk, if you don’t get off of me, I’ll hypo you!”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to your bestest friend ever!”

And then they were gone, as suddenly as they had appeared.

1.237 weeks later, Spock learnt that the job his “bestest friend ever” had acquired for him was at the coffee shop he often corrected papers in.

He goes even when he has no papers to grade.

There is no reason for this. Though it is the only place that offers the beverage of his planet, it is subpar, and Spock can and has purchased his own Vulcan-brew using his PADD.

It does not make sense. It is not logical.

Yet he continues to go.

The James Tiberius Kirk he sees behind the counter is different from the one he has heard of from his students. His name has come up on several occasions from both sexes and all genders. The girls often speak with a tone of what Mother would call wonder, while the boys’ words are thick with envy, as the saying goes. He has parsed together a mental image of James Tiberius Kirk from the collective stories he has heard about him, and has come to the conclusion that he is loud, boisterous and self-assured. He talks with a condescending tone, and struts rather than walks, enrolled in the pursuit of titles, not for curiosity and knowledge. He sounds most unpleasant.

The James Tiberius Kirk who serves Spock tea is, as the humans like to say, a figurative mess. Half of his sentences are placeholders for words, and he carries himself much like an extraterrestrial who is inhabiting a humanoid form for the first time would, unaware of what to do with his appendages, causing his movement to be awkward and lacking in grace. He has a series of bad habits, including an unhealthy caffeine addiction, perpetually biting his nails, and excessive pen tapping on the side of his clipboard. Regardless of his negligence to standard protocol in neglecting to wear the hat which is customary of his uniform, he has “hat hair”, which causing the blond strands to stick up in many different directions. There are dark markings beneath his eyes, a feature Spock has often remarked in people who do not regularly engage in Rapid Eye Movement, evidence by the barista’s ability to sleep whilst standing. He often taps his feet to the rhythm of unknown songs, which he has been informed are “old school”, from several centuries ago, and often sings about what he is doing “under his breath” with much of the “sarcasm” Spock has heard humans find to be humorous. He studies in the corner of the shop during his breaks, using his oral cavity as an appropriate receptacle for the capsule of his highlighter— it is not — and the Vulcan wishes illogically that he would cease this behaviour as 5051 people die due to choking related hazards, 0.35% of which are capsule-related incidents. This increased change of death is due to James Tiberius Kirk’s preference to take notes by hand, an archaic practice which was abolished approximately 173.87 years previous due to its inefficiency. His hand “cramps up” after fifteen minutes, and he switches to his non-dominant one, refusing to take rests. He has one-sided arguments with the Expresso machine, often resorting to profane language despite the fact that the machine is unable to respond. Despite the apparatus’ lack of contribution to the metaphorical “battle”, it “wins” every time.

He is fascinating.

He is illogical.

Spock wonders if it is contagious as, when Jim sets down Spock’s cup, carefully avoiding even accidental touches, he is left wondering what his skin would feel like.


	5. Courting Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So. How is your Vulcan courting ritual going?”

“Jim.”

Jim will never get used to the way Spock says his name. There is no real inflection anywhere, and though it’s a peculiar way of saying it, it’s his favourite.

“Spock,” the barista greets. “The usual?”

“Negative. I wish to consume the tea you provided me with 2.41 weeks ago.”

Jim’s mind scrambles to do some quick mental math. “You mean the er, fascinating one?”

“Affirmative.”

The blond flushes. “Course.”

When he gets to the counter, Bones greets him with a smirk.

“So. How’s your Vulcan courting ritual going?”

“It’s not like that,” says the cadet, rolling his eyes. He busies himself, making his favourite tea, keeping his head bowed to resist the temptation to look at Spock and stare. “I’m … it’s not like that.”

“You want it to be.”

“I don’t have the time.” There’s no point denying it. Bones sees through him so easily. “Even if he _was_ remotely interested, which I doubt, I wouldn’t have time to pursue anything remotely committal.”

Between the papers and the tests and the fact that not only is he taking an accelerated course to graduation, he’s on the honour role with AP classes everywhere and oral presentations where his rhetoric exists only for the instance he needs to make speeches, he’s at the end of his rope.

If it were Spock though, if there was _proof_ that the Vulcan maybe liked him, Jim would be willing to put in the hours.

“You never know,” says Bones with a hum.

“You don’t even like him.”

“I don’t,” Bones agrees. “But you do.”

“Stupidly, yes.”

This time it’s Bones staring at Spock, and Jim can’t reprimand him, not when he’s trying so hard not to stare himself.

“He’s not that impressive. Kind of stiff, if you ask me.”

“He’s funny, he makes me laugh.” _At myself, mostly_. Jim stirs the tea, counterclockwise for three spins, then taps the spoon on the side of the cup. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make an idiot of myself.”


	6. Slip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim watches the tea drip down the Vulcan’s face.

_Shit._

“I am _so_ sorry!”

This was bound to happen at some point. He’s not always the most coordinated and he was up late last night, reviewing his notes for his Advanced Navigation class. His insomnia combined with his need-to-please attitude is lethal. It’s a miracle it hasn’t happened sooner, but did it really have to be _Spock_ of all people?

The Vulcan blinks as though it will make the tea disappear off his face. “Are you uninjured, Jim?”

“I’m fine,” says the blond. _Just totally mortified and thinking about relocating across the globe_. “I should be asking _you_ that! I’m so sorry, I don’t even know what I was doing, I just …” As he rapidly tries to find an excuse, though none really come to mind, he _does_ give himselfa pat on the back for avoiding landing on the Vulcan, which would have been embarrassing on more than just the touch telepathy level. “I was thinking a lot.”

“About what were you thinking of?”

“Do you want me to get you a napkin?” This might just be the most embarrassing moment of his life, and that’s saying something. It’s probably a humiliating situation for Spock as well, if Vulcans feel humiliation. Such a dignified person with hot, boiling tea dripping down his face, clumping his eyelashes.

“It is not necessary. I find the temperature negligible.”

Right, Vulcans have a different body temperature that’s higher than humans. Still, he feels bad. Laughing nervously, he rubs his neck. “Uh, if you’re sure.”

“I am certain.” Spock blinks again. It’s as if he’s too prideful to wipe away at the tea, and is hoping by blinking the correct amount of times, it will evaporate. “What were you thinking about that had you distracted?”

“Coordinates. I have a test tomorrow,” the blond explains.

“Fascinating.”

“That’s not an excuse!” Jim adds hastily. “I didn’t mean to trip, I just …” Gnawing at his bottom lip is a wonderful way to keep himself quiet. He wants to reach out for the Vulcan, to wipe at his face, to brush away the offending beverage, but he keeps his hands to himself because Vulcans don’t like touching. “I just wasn’t paying attention.”

Spock tilts his head slightly. Some of the tea is dripping from his ears and some of it has stained his shirt. Jim notices the Starfleet insignia for the first time. “How many hours did you sleep last night?”

“I, er …”

Spock’s blink lasts longer than a human blink. Jim _thinks_ this is might be how Vulcans collect themselves, or express shock. As though in the about three seconds their eyes are closed, the Vulcan processed, calculated and come to a conclusion about everything. “It was out of line to ask, my apologies.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jim assures hastily. “I got uh …” He does some quick math, keeping in mind he studied until about 3, though it could have been longer, he doesn’t really check clocks right before he collapses from exhaustion as he isn’t usually quizzed on something as trivial as his sleep patterns, and he went for his usual morning run at 5 AM, so that means … “2 hours?”

The Vulcan’s eye twitches ever so slightly, Jim’s sure he’s imagined it. “Though I do not completely comprehend the ideal conditions for humans to reach a homeostasis of some sort, I believe two hours of sleep is an insufficient amount for one of your body type.”

The cadet laughs lightly, rubbing his neck. “I uh, guess it is. It’s no problem though, I just um. It was just a bad night, that’s all.”

Spock frowns. “Your friend is a doctor.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Does he not inquire about your health on a regular basis?”

“Oh, he does,” Jim assures. “He just also accepts that I’m kinda … careless about it and all that. Adds to my charm.”

_The. Fuck. Are you saying?_

“Jim!”

Said-barista turns at the sound of his name. Bones is beckoning him to the backroom. “Sorry, gotta get going.”

“Apology at such a time is illogical,” says Spock.

Jim nods awkwardly. “I’ll … see you, I guess.”

He turns on his heel and goes to report to Bones, who doesn’t once inquire how much Jim has slept.


	7. Unpleasant Coworkerr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bones glares at him and Jim, as if to say _don’t bring me into your stupid fights_. “No comment.”

“ _You’re_ the one serving that freak?”

Jim takes a deep breath. He doesn’t have the patience for this, especially since he’s got three papers due in the next four days. “He’s not a freak, Gary. He’s Vulcan.”

“Same thing,” says Gary Mitchell, one of Jim’s classmates and current infuriating co-worker. “He’s got weird ears.”

“You’ve got a weird head,” the blond snaps. “You just don’t like him cause he’s smarter than you.”

“Ha!” The dark haired boy scoffs. “As if! I’m in Starfleet, they only accept the best!”

“So is he.”

Gary raises a challenging eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

Jim bites the inside of his cheek. He’s seen some of the things Spock’s been doing on his PADD, reading papers about physics and correcting them, making notes in the margins. He’s intelligent. Far more intelligent than Gary can ever hope to be.

“Hey, Leonard! What do you think? Am I being stupid? I’m smarter than that alien stiff, right?”

Bones glares at the two employees, as if to say _don’t bring me into your stupid fights_. “No comment.”

“Oh, c’mon Len,” Gary presses. “You can tell Jim the truth, that I’m way better than his new exotic friend.”

The Southern doctor turns sharply, slamming his clipboard on the counter. “If I answer you, will you do your job?”

“Course.”

“Jim’s _exotic friend_ , as you put it, is far more intelligent than you.”

“B-but,—”

“He’s Vulcan,” Bones says, going back to the inventory list. “His kind value logic above all else, and invest almost all their manpower into the pursuit of science. Starfleet is only as developed as it is because of the Vulcans. If you dared to challenge a Vulcan in an intellect battle, you’d be stupider than I thought, and that’s saying something.”

Jim may just take a picture of Gary’s stupefied face and frame it.


	8. Unprecedented

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Jim’s smarter than he is. Maybe his crush won’t consume him the way Leonard’s love for his wife consumed him until he was left an empty man by the time the papers were finalized.
> 
> Knowing James T. Kirk as he does, he knows it’s a long shot.

In the two years Leonard McCoy has known James T. Kirk, he has seen the blond crush over several people, even dating three (though those all were short-lived).

This thing with the Vulcan is something new.

It’s almost sickening to watch Jim fumble over his words as though he’s never spoken to a human being before. It reminds him of happier times, when he was still married. Of course, that just reminds him of his daughter, and he doesn’t like to dwell on that, so he pushes the thought aside.

If there’s one thing Leonard has learnt from his failed marriage, it’s that crushing hard like that only ends in disaster.

He hates to burst the kid’s bubble, especially since he’s so young and cheerful all the Goddamn time, but _someone_ has to break it to him.

Every time he’s ready to sit the kid down so they can have “the talk”, the cadet starts gushing and there’s a light in his eyes that shines so brightly, Leonard would be a monster to try to put it out.

Maybe Jim’s smarter than he is. Maybe his crush won’t consume him the way Leonard’s love for his wife did until it ate away at him, leaving him empty by the time the papers were finalized.

Knowing James T. Kirk as he does, he knows it’s a long shot.

Leonard watches the Vulcan when Jim isn’t around. He can’t see the appeal, but that may be because Leonard’s never thought of men in _that way,_ not like Jim does on the occasion.

He can see the hobgoblin now, outside the shop, looking through the door. He scans the inside of the shop, in that unnerving, analytical way of his, before turning on his heel and leaving.

 _Looks like he’s not coming today_ , Leonard muses.

“Thank God the freak isn’t dropping by,” Gary says as he stacks the cups. “Don’t know how I’d handle him without Jim around.”

The med student considers telling Gary to shut his trap, a client is a client, when he remembers he’s right. Jim _isn’t_ here. Leonard forced him to go back to his apartment and rest after seeing the state he was in at lunch. He fell asleep the instant his head hit the pillow.

He watches the retreating form of the Vulcan.

Had he been expecting Jim? Was he coming to the shop _for_ Jim?

Leonard may have been wrong. Maybe Vulcans _are_ more fascinating than he gives them credit for.


	9. Latte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have I done something to trigger such abrasive language?”

Bones forces Jim to take a few days off after seeing him enter the shop with bags under his eyes the size of empty skeleton eye sockets.

He’s reluctant to do so, but since Bones stands like a bodyguard in front of the door, he resigns himself to staying in school and going to his apartment. He spends the hours working on a paper for his Ancient Philosophies course. It’s ten pages, with 10% of the word count being superfluously long titles of the articles he’s consulted such as “Hegh batlhlIj je: The Philosophic Ramifications of Klingon Death Rituals” and “Kol-Ut-Shan: The Origin and History of Vulcan’s Reform Leader, Surak”. He walks into the shop a week later a little lighter, though he doubts Bones would be pleased to know Jim didn’t rest at all during his “break”.

Spock is nowhere to be seen.

He asks around, but Gary says he hasn’t seen him in a while (he tries not to punch him when he adds in that it’s a good thing too, since the freak’s absence has increased their clientele).

It’s two weeks later that Jim spots the Vulcan on the street.

Before he can think better of it, he’s running out the door while Bones screams at him to get his ass back inside and give the nice lady her order before he chases after his “boyfriend” (which, they’re not dating Bones, seriously, how childlike are you? Though if he were to ask … no, not the time for that).

“Spock!”

The Vulcan is swallowed by the large crowd. Even with his sensitive hearing, it’s stupid to think Spock can hear him with all the other noises.

They haven’t spoken in a while, and they’re not friends, even though Jim likes to think they are. He has no excuse for screaming his name in a crowded street.

Would Spock even remember him? He’s always so caught up with his PADD, it’s unlikely.

Having lost sight of the dark haired being in the swarm of people, Jim resigns himself to going back inside when—

“Jim.”

He turns to see Spock standing behind him, his eyebrows creased. “You have returned.”

“Missed me?”

What a stupid question. Of course Spock didn’t miss him, who misses their barista?

“Your absence was noted.”

Huh. He was noted. Or rather, the _lack_ of him was noted. That’s more than he was expecting.

“Yeah, work was kinda piling up. Bones forced me to take a break.”

Spock looks at him carefully. “You have not been receiving the recommended 7.87 hours of sleep.”

“Well, er, I try, but sometimes things don’t work out exactly as planned,” Jim admits sheepishly.

“By standing with me here, you are neglecting your responsibilities as an employee of the establishment,” Spock notes.

“Can’t I catch up with a …” The blond searches through his vocabulary for an appropriate name to call Spock, avoiding his intense gaze, looking sideways and downwards when— “ _Shit.”_

Spock looks perplexed from Jim’s sudden exclamation, not that he can blame him.

“Have I done something to trigger such abrasive language?”

“No, it wasn’t you, just my own carelessness.” The cadet holds up the cup for Spock to see.

“I do not comprehend.”

“Ah, it’s latte art. Well, it _was._ Then I fucked it up.”

“Latte art?” Spock echoes.

“Yeah. It’s not supposed to look this shitty. I could um, I could make you one? If you want? Sometime?”

Spock blinks. “That would be … satisfactory.”

“Great,” says Jim and he’s sure his face is splitting open from his grin.

“You are required inside,” Spock observes, looking at something over Jim’s shoulder.

The barista turns to see Bones glaring at him pointedly through the glass.

“Sorry, I have to go! Drop by soon, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for Spock’s answer, instead running inside and apologizing profusely to the woman. He can tell Bones wants to interrogate him about Spock, but he jumps on the next customer before Gary can get there to avoid him.

While he works, he wonders what kind of art Spock would like best.


	10. Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock’s eyebrows furrow. “Your tone of voice indicates that we have had a misunderstanding.”
> 
> “No, no misunderstanding,” Jim assures. _I just have a stupid crush on you, I’m getting involved with my illogical human emotions_.

“Dr. McCoy offered me your ‘number’ while you were absent.”

It takes Jim a moment to remember Bones’ real name, but once he makes the link, he freezes. “Oh?”

“I did not take it.”

_Of course not. You’re his fucking barista, not his friend._

“Right.”

Spock’s eyebrows furrow. “Your tone of voice indicates that we have had a misunderstanding.”

“No, no misunderstanding,” Jim assures. _I just have a stupid crush on you, getting involved with my illogical human emotions_.

Spock frowns. “I did not decline because I do not wish to have your ‘number’. It is that I do not want to take something of yours that you have not given me yourself.”

Jim blinks.

_Is … Is Spock asking for my number?_

“Do you, uh, do you want it?” Jim asks. “My number, I mean.”

“Affirmative.”

Jim licks his suddenly dry lips. “Okay.”

He carefully sets down Spock’s tea and takes out a marker from his apron. He almost reaches out to write on Spock’s arm, but stops himself just in time. Taking a napkin, he tries to still his trembling hand as he writes it down. He’s doubting his own number suddenly. He doesn’t know if his 3 is secretly an 8. He scratches it out several times. The napkin is now a disaster. He crumples it and takes a new one, writing out each digit carefully at a painstakingly slow pace. His fingers still tremble a bit, making each line drawn shaky, but legible.

He hopes.

“There you go.”

“Thank you.”

Jim nods. He feels as though the room has increased in temperature by a thousand. He resists the urge to pull at his collar, he’s quite sure it’s just part of his imagination. It’s probably him being a nervous wreck.

But he’s a nervous wreck whose number Spock’s asked for.

He has a bit of a spring to his step that Bones doesn’t comment on.


	11. Press Send

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~  
> _I believe I have spent 10.13 minutes too long on attempting to compose a single message_  
>  ~~

~~_Greeting James,_ ~~

~~_Hello James,_ ~~

~~_Hi, James_ ~~

_Jim,_

~~_Your handwriting is difficult to decipher_ ~~

~~_I have just purchased a communications application for the purpose of contacting you on my PADD._ ~~

~~_You are the sole owner of my new “personal” contact information._ ~~

~~_It is Spock_ ~~

~~_This is Spock_ ~~

~~_I am sending you this message so that you may have my “number” in turn._ ~~

~~_You now have my contact information._ ~~

~~_You may find my “number” in your contacts now_ ~~

~~_I believe I have spent 10.13 minutes too long on attempting to compose a single message_ ~~

_You will find my number enclosed._

~~_Sincerely, Spock_ ~~

~~_Farewell, Spock_ ~~

~~_Goodbye, Spock_ ~~

_Spock_

_  
_ ~~_hey!_ ~~

~~_sup?_ ~~

~~_hi_ ~~

_Hi,_

~~_ur # comes w/ the text_ ~~

~~_now that we have each others numbers, this means u can reach me whenever_ ~~

~~_could u send me a pic of u 4 the profile? ill send u 1 too_ ~~

~~_Jim wants to suck your dick_ ~~

~~_rly glad u still talk 2 me even tho my friends a dick_ ~~

~~_hope this means well get 2 talk more_ ~~

~~_does this mean well start 2 have 2-way conversations more?_ ~~

~~_Knock knock_ ~~

~~_Thnx_ ~~

_Thanks_

~~_Jim_ ~~

~~_Jim T Kirk_ ~~

~~_James_ ~~

~~_Jim_ ~~

~~_Kirk out_ ~~

~~_:)_ ~~

~~_Jim ;)_ ~~

_Jim_


	12. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bones watches him with that patented “I’m a doctor and being your friend when you lead such an unhealthy lifestyle is _very_ difficult for me”.

No normal person drinks as much caffeine as Jim does. He’s quite sure his BCC (Blood Caffeine Content), is something like 12%, and that’s being generous.

Bones watches him with that patented _“I’m a doctor and being your friend when you lead such an unhealthy lifestyle is very difficult for me”_. Jim ignores him, giving Bones more frown lines.

The blond gets himself a cup of coffee, taking a sip before the start of his shift. He wraps the strings of his apron around his body twice before tying the knot, with fingers that tremor way more than they should.

He rings up the cash for a few customers, humming _Somebody to Love_ under his breath when the door opens and in walks Spock, carrying his PADD underneath his arm as usual, sitting down in the center of the room.

He’s early.

Not that Jim’s been taking note of when the Vulcan gets his tea. It just usually happens sometime between six and seven. He’s human, he looks for patterns in actions. There’s no reason to read more into this than there is, _Bones_.

Either way, the Vulcan’s sudden appearance at four is odd.

The good news is Jim tends to be more coherent the earlier in the day you catch him so perhaps this will be his most intelligent conversation yet. Spock will probably be his last customer before he rushes off to class.

He makes his way across the floor, something he’s gotten much more accustomed to (it hardly affects him anymore), and clears his throat once he is standing beside the pointy-eared humanoid.

Spock sets down the PADD. Jim notices it’s open to e-mail. He thinks of all the texts he hasn’t send, worrying over his words, grammar and syntax. It brings him to the edge of an anxiety attack every time he tries.

“You’re early.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “Have I made myself an inconvenience to you?”

“No! Not at all!” Jim can feel his mouth getting dry. He needs a new cup of coffee. “I’ll get you that tea you like.”

Spock tilts his head. “You have consumed caffeine.”

“Yeah …?” Is he supposed to take that as an insult or something?

“Perhaps you should have tea instead.”

Tea is calming. Jim doesn’t need tea. He needs to stay awake.

“I’m okay, really.”

“How many hours have you slept?”

Jim scratches his neck. He doesn’t want to answer. Bones is already mother-henning him, he doesn’t need Spock to do it too. “I uh … haven’t really slept. In a while …”

“How long?”

“Uh …” _Studied all night for the linguistics test last night, had to work on that paper for the last two nights. Late shift three nights ago, and then ordered some pizza when the microwave blew a fuse …_ “Maybe four days?”

Spock’s eyes widen just a fraction.

He’s getting blurry in front of him.

Coffee.

He needs coffee.

His eyes slip close and he teeters forward _. Shit, no, no, no._ He falls towards Spock, knocking against him slightly before he forces himself to lean backwards.

“JIM!”

Everything goes black.


	13. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Trust me Jim, I’m doing you a favour. The Academy’s nurse won’t be _nearly_ as nice as I am.”
> 
> “This is you being _nice_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was sick while writing this, so I made Jim sick..

Jim wakes up in the back of the cafe, lying on a set of chairs that have been arranged into a makeshift bed.

Immediately, panic rises.

He’s missed class. He’s missed deadlines, he’s missed _everything_. Checking his watch, it’s been twenty minutes. That isn’t good. If he hurries though, he might be able to make his Interspecies Ethics class.

He sprints to his feet, and nearly falls over as the world sways. He slaps himself to try and get his eyes to focus. His cheek stings, but he can’t think about that, he doesn’t have the time. He’s taking short, quick breaths which he’s heard is bad for him, but that can be pushed aside for now, he needs to get to class—

“ _Shit_.”

Bones is blocking the doorway.

“Shit indeed,” says the doctor dryly. “You haven’t slept in _days_. Clearly, I’ve been too lenient.”

“You hypo-ed me!”

“This is all your own doing, though I _should’ve_ hypo-ed you sooner,” Bones observes. “That week I made you take off, you weren’t resting, were you?”

Jim is fully aware he looks like a toddler when he stands with his arms crossed this way. He doesn’t care. “So what?”

“ _So_ you’re my _friend_ , Jim, not my kid! I shouldn’t have to babysit you like this.”

“Then don’t! I’m fine!”

“Passing out on the job is _not_ fine,” Bones snaps. He throws Jim his glasses. The blond catches them clumsily. “Wash your face off in the sink.”

Jim really hates his glasses, but his eyes have been hurting him lately. Bones would say it has something to do with reading in the dark. He washes his face in the sink and cleans the lenses he rarely uses, putting them on. The world straightens out a little bit, and his head hurts a little less.

He flicks the droplets of water at the doctor to show his protest for his care.

“There, now I’m leaving— hey, let go of me!”

Bones is stretching Jim’s shirt to a worrying degree. Clearly carrying all the medical textbooks does something for his arms. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“But—”

“No buts, your health comes above your schoolwork.”

In what universe does Bones live in? As far as Jim knows, _everything_ rides on his education. He can focus on his health once he’s graduated.

“Let me tell you what will happen when you walk through that door. You’re going to go outside, run to class and sit through it with a pounding headache. You’ll take shitty notes, and arrange to talk to your teacher because you don’t trust anyone in your class to take good notes because of your ‘system’ that they’ll ruin if they try to send you subpart electronic files using that font you hate. You’ll then rush off to your next class, bump into someone and pass out on the floor. That’s assuming you don’t immediately slip and crack your head open on the lawn from the rain we got last night.

“Trust me Jim, I’m doing you a favour. The Academy’s nurse won’t be _nearly_ as nice as I am.”

“This is you being _nice_?” Jim doesn’t need a doctor, he needs a friend. The blond tries to push past him, but the doctor stays as steady as a rock.

“Jim, you have a fever.” He’s using his “Doctor Voice” that Jim hates. “The only way you’re leaving here is if I escort you home and lock you in your apartment, which I _know_ you’ll try and climb out the window of, which is why you’re staying _here_.”

“You can’t keep me here,” the cadet protests. “You have your own shit to do, you can’t play babysitter.”

“I’ve been doing it as long as I’ve known you—”

“Hey!”

“But you’re right,” Bones admits as though he hasn’t been interrupted. “Which is why I won’t be here the whole time. My shift’s over, which means _he’ll_ be looking after you.”

“Who the fuck is— Spock.”

From behind the doctor emerges the Vulcan, who greets him with one of his long blinks.

“Jim.”

_Fuck._


	14. Exhausting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon meeting James T. Kirk, for the first time ever, both sides came to an agreement.
> 
> _Touch him._

“It’s really not that bad.”

Spock does not understand why the human insists on pretending he is okay when he is clearly very ill. His body temperature— from 0.31 seconds Spock came in contact with his skin— was well above the standard _homo sapiens_ norm.

“You are lying.”

Spock is quite grateful for the cancellation of his classes, so that he may be free to oversee the blond who neglects his health to such a degree as to induce fainting.

Jim protests, which Spock supposes is not unusual. He is a very active person who does not enjoy being forced to remain stationary. Eventually, the cadet succumbs to sleep, as all humans must.

It is strange, to say the least.

Spock has been on the planet Earth for quite some time. Five human years. During this time, he has never developed a relationship of any kind with humans beyond what is considered necessary. He has never found it important.

He looks over at the barista from his PADD and is reminded why. It is tiring work, looking after humans.

Humans are not telepaths, they do not need to worry about their thoughts or emotions being read. They do not need shields. All the same, it strikes him as odd how much _louder_ Jim is than others.

Spock cannot explain why the blond’s mind projects much louder than others, however the more he visits the coffee shop, he finds himself having to strengthen his shields. They shattered in the brief instant he touched Jim, allowing for a single emotion to force its way to him.

_Regret._

Every human Spock has ever encountered wants to _touch_.

It is an aching need of humans to touch that which is unknown to them. The academics are curious about how his anatomy differs from theirs. He is youngest of his species to come in contact with humans, and the only of his genetic makeup to exist. Occasionally, people will touch him with intentions for coitus. Spock denies them.

Spock tolerates physical contact, though he finds it unpleasant. He has come to expect it, being on Earth. There are circumstances that cannot be avoided, such as the accidental brushing of shoulders when you are too close in a narrow hallway. There are those who forget, and touch his shoulder, or his arm to get his attention. He does not protest, merely endures it. There are those who wish to introduce themselves with a handshake. Spock lets go immediately afterwards.

Touch, for Spock, is a very odd thing.

Due to his Vulcan heritage, the intimate act of direct contact with another’s skin is to be avoided, however his human genetics make him illogical yearn for it.

He has always been able to subdue this longing for contact. There is no reason to search for physical reassurance as humans often do. He does not need a hand on his arm to remind him of another’s presence, nor does he need fingers tangled in his hair in jest. He does not require comfort in the form of the squeezing of his abdomen, and it is not necessary to his survival to feel another violently knock at his ankles below a table. It is illogical to seek out tangible evidence of another’s presence.

Yes, the human side of him which craves contact is easily dismissed.

That is, until he meets James T. Kirk.

Jim, like every other human, wants to touch.

He does no such thing.

The cadet has always wrapped a napkin around his own hand when handing Spock his tea, careful to maintain distance between the two of them.

Jim respects his personal space, with an amount of restraint that Spock’s professional coworkers lack.

Spock wishes he would not.

He is uncertain as to the reason behind Jim’s reluctance to touch him. If he were to hypothesize, the regret leads him to infer he is repulsed by the Vulcan’s touch.

Illogical as hope is, Spock had hoped their first contact would have been under different circumstances.

Spock does not give into the urges Mother’s genetic makeup thrusts upon him. As the logical side of him believes them to be impractical, they are easily brushed aside, with Father’s contribution to his DNA “winning” most battles.

Upon meeting James T. Kirk, for the first time ever, both sides came to an agreement.

_Touch him._

Spock did not.

Looking upon the blond’s pale face, he notices his spectacles are crooked. He is spread out across the chairs in a manner that makes Spock question how he is not falling.

Though he cannot understand _how_ Father manages to constantly look after Mother, as it is a truly exhausting endeavour, he understands _why_.


	15. Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Basically, the queen is the bitch in charge.”
> 
> Spock blinks. “I do not understand the meaning of ‘bitch’ used in such a context, however I am inclined to say it is historically accurate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my belief that chess is a game that Jim taught Spock because regardless of how logical the game is, it is a form of amusement which Vulcans have no use for and thus would not know.  
> ALSO I've decided to update twice a week. Updates will now be on Wednesday and Sunday.

Jim can only sleep for so long before he gets bored.

He knows better than to ask if he can leave to get his PADD, so instead he eyes _Spock_ ’s PADD.

“Can I borrow it? Just for a moment? I need to check my classes.”

The crease of Spock’s forehead increases. “I would not recommend such an action.”

“But Spock! I _need_ it!”

Spock raises an inquisitive eyebrow. It feels sarcastic, somehow. “It is not necessary to your survival that you use my PADD for your schoolwork.”

“Fine, I _want_ to, okay?” Jim nearly whines, except he doesn’t because he is a mature adult. “In the pursuit of my own education, I _really_ want to get it done. So can I? Please?”

“Negative.”

_Goddammit!_

He can’t just sit here. If he’s not going to be in class, and he doesn’t have any of his work to do with him, than he has to make _something_ of this time. Something stimulating.

An idea pops into his head.

Spock reaches out for him when he gets up from the chairs. His memory is a bit blurry before Gary caught him, but he knows he touched Spock by accident. He feels really bad about it. Physical contact clearly makes the Vulcan uncomfortable and he feels the regret in his stomach double as the pointed-eared man drops his arm in recoil, as if disgusted by the prospect of touching Jim’s skin.

“Relax, I’m just getting something,” assures the cadet, pushing aside the disappointment of the Vulcan’s revulsion. It doesn’t surprise him, it’s a cultural thing. Nothing to take personally.

He rummages through the cupboard. He knows Bones keeps it around here, somewhere _._

_Found it!_

Jim pulls out the bent box. Rearranging the chairs, he places one in between him and Spock and unboxes the contents.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s not what _I’m_ doing, it’s what _we’re_ doing.”

“I fail to see how this is relevant. I am not doing anything,” says Spock, that adorable crinkle appearing in his forehead again.

“ _We_ are playing chess,” declares Jim.

“Chess?”

“Chess.”

Spock stares at him blankly.

“You don’t know what chess is?”

“I was unaware that it was something I should be knowledgeable in.”

The blond laughs. “It doesn’t really matter, you can always learn. That is, if you want to. You don’t have to. I’m not trying to be pushy or anything … I just uh … do you want me to teach you?”

Spock blinks. “I fail to see how ‘pushy’ can apply to you in a circumstance in which we are physically separated by a wooden barrier, however I detect your heart rate has accelerated due to nerves. It is unnecessary to be nervous around me.”

Jim has to bite down to stop himself from letting it slip that of course he’s a fucking nervous wreck, Spock is _gorgeous_ and Jim … Jim is just Jim.

“However, if you desire to enlighten me on the subject of chess” he says the word as though his mouth is full of marbles, unsure of how it’s supposed to sound, “I am willing to learn.”

Jim blinks. “Is that your way of saying you want me to teach you?”

“Affirmative.”

Well, he wasn’t expecting that.

Jim clears his throat and focuses on the pieces, setting them up properly. He can talk chess. He understands chess. He _will_ sound intelligent this time. “You’ve got six different types of pieces; the king, the queen, the rooks, the bishops, the knights, and the pawns.”

“This is an allusion to the medieval times of Europe on Earth, is it not?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” If he lets Spock distract him at all, he’ll start sounding stupid again so he barrels through his explanation. “So each piece moves a bit differently. I’ll let you be white, cause they get to go first. The point of chess is to protect the king, even though he’s kind of useless.”

“That appears to be accurate to real life,” Spock observes.

Jim giggles. _Shit, why am I giggling?_ He clears his throat. “The king can only move one square at a time, but it can move any way it wants, front, back, side to side, diagonal, that sort of thing. The queen, that’s this piece, can move wherever the fuck she wants in a straight line, for however long she wants, just so long as she doesn’t knock try to move through her own pieces. Basically, the queen is the bitch in charge.”

Spock blinks and it’s too cute. “I do not understand the meaning of ‘bitch’ used in such a context, however I am inclined to say it is historically accurate.”

“Anyway, so this piece, the rook, can move as long as it wants, but it can only move forward and backward, and to the sides. So basically, it can kinda do what the queen can? But it can’t go diagonally.

“The bishop goes wherever it wants, for as long as it wants, so long as its diagonally moving, and it starts and ends on the same colour. The colour of your piece tells you which colour your bishop can land on.

“The knight is pretty cool, it moves a bit weirdly though. So to move the knight, you have to move two squares in any direction, and then you make one more move to make an L. Oh, and if you want, you can go through other pieces. Like, every piece like the queen can’t go on a path if it crosses another piece of their own colour, but the knights can.

“And lastly, there’s the pawn. The pawn is a weird little fucker. So it can only move one square at a time, like the king, except for its first move. The first time it moves, it can move two square. But _only_ on its first move. It can’t capture things in front of it, it has to capture things diagonally. Also, it can’t move backwards. If you get your pawn to the other side of the board, you can turn it into a different type of piece, and then it moves like that piece does, so you just like trade the pawn out for a new piece of the type you want. But you can’t turn it into a king.

“You capture pieces by moving onto a square where there’s already a piece, and claim it for your own. Got it?”

Spock stares at the pieces in front of him, his eyebrows creasing in concentration. “We may begin.”

The thing about Jim and chess is it’s like self-administered therapy.

It calms him down. It _forces_ him to calm down. He can’t very well come up with an elaborate strategy to out-wit his opponent if his mind is elsewhere. Whenever things get too much, plays. It distracts him, makes him feel like he’s _doing something_ , being productive, while at the same time having fun.

Bones doesn’t know about it, but sometimes when Jim can’t sleep, he’ll play chess on his PADD. He rewards every two chapters he reads in his textbook with a game against the AI. He hasn’t played against a real human in a long time.

Well, he supposes he still hasn’t.

Bones indulges him in the occasional game, though he’s a science student, a fucking _doctor,_ of course he’s super busy. It makes sense that he can’t always fit Jim into his schedule, as much as he tries.

Playing against Spock is much more fun than playing against AI.

The Vulcan is clever. He sees through Jim’s moves and forces him to reassess his strategy half-way through games. He seems to enjoy it as much as Jim, if not more.

After a few games, Bones comes back.

He raises an eyebrow at Jim, looking between him and Spock.

“Sorry to interrupt,” says the doctor.

Spock stands up from the chair. “It is of no consequence.”

“Hey, what about the game?”

“I have memorized the placement of the pieces. Should you wish to continue at a later time, it can be arranged,” says Spock. He picks up his PADD, that Jim realizes has several unread notifications, and his eyes widen a fraction. “I must get going. Dr McCoy, do not allow Jim to move from his spot.”

With that, Spock exits.

There’s silence that hangs in the room like miasma.

“Just say it.”

“You got him to play chess with you?”

Jim shrugs. “I didn’t have anything better to do.”

Bones has a look in his eyes that Jim doesn’t like.

“What?”

“You know that chess with you is basically foreplay, right?”

Jim rolls his eyes. “I’m not … It was a friendly game of chess,” he insists.

“Okay, sure.”

Bones and he play a few games.

It’s not as much fun as it is against Spock.


	16. Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl leans over, and they both start to look at Spock’s PADD together. The PADD Spock wouldn’t let him touch.

There’s a girl.

Talking to Spock.

Logically, Jim knows he doesn’t have a monopoly over Spock. After all, Spock has his own life outside of the small coffee shop. His world doesn’t spin on an axis of _Jim._

The two take a seat together, Spock’s usual two-person table is actually seating two. The girl leans over, and they both start to look at Spock’s PADD together. The PADD Spock wouldn’t let him touch.

“Shit!”

Jim’s hot coffee is dripping down his wrist. There’s no reason for him to be as alarmed as he is, it’s not hot enough to do more than scorch his skin a little bit, and yet…

He throws his wasted cup of coffee into the trash.

Gritting his teeth, he braces himself to ask Spock and his date for their order, when the girl gets up, excusing herself. She looks familiar.

Jim almost runs (not quite, because he’s not _that_ unprofessional) to where Spock is. At this point, asking for Spock’s order is just a formality. 99.6% of the time, it’s the exact same thing.

“Jim,” greets the Vulcan. “You are in better health?”

Jim nods. “The usual?”

Spock’s eyebrows crease slightly. Maybe Jim’s a bit too sharp. “Negative. I would like to have the other tea you procured for me.”

The blond bows ( _again with the fucking bowing_ ), and scurries off. He makes the tea in record time and finds that the girl is talking to Spock again, smiling at him.

He can talk to them. Jim _isn’t_ an introvert, no matter what Bones says. He’s good with people, at pretending to make small talk and forming casual relationships. He’s good at being _nice_ to people.

Jim calls Spock’s name to collect his tea.

He is a coward.

When Spock hands him the money, Jim stares at the outstretched hand. Normally, he avoids the contact because Vulcans don’t like it. Now he’s avoiding because he’s scared Spock will touch him and _know_. So he waits, and the coins are placed on the table with a certain note of finality that he hates.

He doesn’t think too much about how it’s the first time Spock has actively tried to _hand_ him money, rather than place it on his side of the counter. It’s probably nothing.

 _This is fine,_ Jim tells himself.

He thinks.


	17. Acquired Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The barista _was_ Kirk, wasn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a Canadian, happy Canada day! As of 151 years ago, in 1867, Canada became a dominion thanks to the North American British Act (can you feel my history nerd-om?)  
> The tea is a blend a company made for _Star Trek_ 's 50th anniversary, and I'm still laughing at James Tea Kirk. Spock's biology was made up of headcanons which could be totally wrong.

Spock believes he owes Jim an explanation.

He is not sure why, but he is quite certain that he has done something wrong. He plans to visit him at his workplace after class, but before he can depart, Cadet Uhura approaches him.

“Professor, yesterday, you were drinking Chai tea.”

_Ah. So that is what it is called._

“I was curious as to why.”

Spock cannot explain why. His pallet differs greatly from humans. His food is often described as “bland” by the Starfleet textbooks. He concludes that his tongue must be more sensitive than the average human’s. The tea which Jim provides him on the occasion is a strange explosion of tastes that reminds him of the chaotic emotions that humans offer up so freely. It is headache inducing, and makes his job much more difficult than is necessary, however he finds the surprised expression on Jim’s face when he requests it fascinating.

“It is an acquired taste,” he says which is not a lie. It is merely not the entire truth.

“Kirk drinks that, when he isn’t downing a lot of coffee,” says Cadet Uhura. “The barista _was_ Kirk, wasn’t it?”

“Affirmative.”

Uhura bites her lip. “I … I hope it’s not out of line to ask this, but … what is your relationship with Kirk?”

Spock is aware it is an unconventional question to ask, however he cannot find a reason to object to replying. There is nothing incriminating about his relationship with Jim, or “Kirk”, as Uhura seems to insist on calling him. “It is not out of line.”

He finds however, that he cannot answer. The question, which is no doubt the product of human curiosity, causes him to take pause.

What _are_ him and Jim?

The correct response would be client and server, however after the amount of times they have communicated, he finds that it is not an appropriate response.

“I am uncertain.”

“Of course,” says Uhura, bowing, before departing.

When Spock goes to speak to Jim about the incident as intended, Jim tells him to “slip it under the rug”.

“I do not understand.”

“It’s an idiom,” says the cadet. “Figure of speech. It means we don’t have to talk about it.”

They do not _have_ to talk about it. Spock wishes to. From the way Jim proceeds to act as though it has never happened, he concludes it would be illogical to question him on it again.


	18. Kirk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you unaware of how to play?”
> 
> “No, I know,” Nyota says quickly. “I just … Kirk? Play _chess_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO happy with this chapter cause we're spreading out to new narrators and finally new people are gonna be in the story. I DID base the relationship off the OAS one, but it grows into a TOS one.

****Spock— _Professor_ Spock asks Nyota about Kirk one day.

She freezes momentarily, her back tensing, before straightening herself out. If she grips her books just a little too tightly, that’s her business. “May I ask why you are interested in Kirk?”

“Jim recently fell ill. I am merely inquiring on his health.”

Nyota hadn’t noticed. She and Kirk don’t run in the same circles. Gaila seems to have a high opinion of him, if the way she loudly dreams is any indication.

The thing about James T. Kirk isn’t that he’s a bad man. If anything, he’s a busy man, running from class to class. She hears he’s on the fast-track out of the Academy, taking an increased workload to graduate sooner. She respects that Kirk is trying really hard, that he has ambitions.

But everyone in Starfleet Academy has ambitions. It’s not meant for the faint of heart.

It’s the way Kirk holds himself that makes it impossible for Nyota to respect _him_. While she’s never seen _proof_ of the rumours that say he’s got a new girl on each arm every other week, she knows the boys are envious of him. Kirk sticks to the grumpy doctor, McCoy, like glue, and can always be found by his side if he’s not in the library or class. He’s always running, always needs to get somewhere soon, can’t be bothered with the present, always thinking about what’s ahead.

The Kirk she saw at the cafe is not the Kirk she knows.

The Kirk at the cafe fumbled with the coffee machine and had trouble getting the receipt to rip from he cash. He seemed touchable, _human_ , when he dropped the coins from the tip jar, and hit his head on the counter in his rush to stand up again, so unlike the blond who always seems distracted, like he can’t be bothered with others, like they aren’t _worth_ his time.

Nyota hates it.

“Kirk’s been …” Less loud, now that she thinks about it. Less obnoxious. “Quiet.”

Professor Spock’s eyebrows crease together. “Play chess with him.”

“Chess?”

“Are you unaware of how to play?”

“No, I know,” Nyota says quickly. “I just … Kirk? Play _chess_?”

The Vulcan raises an inquisitive eyebrow, causing her heart to race. “Yes.”

“He just doesn’t seem like the type.”

“He is exactly the type to enjoy chess.”

“Are we talking about the same person?” She’s spoken out of line, and is about to apologize, but it appears as though the teacher hasn’t even noticed.

“It is of no importance,” says Professor Spock stiffly. "You may disregard this conversation.”

Except she can’t.

Kirk play chess? As in, James Tiberius Kirk? The natural genius who never bothers in class unless it’s to show off how much he knows, and has probably never opened a textbook in his life?

She asks him to play chess the next time she sees him.

He says yes.

Nyota does not understand James T. Kirk.


	19. The Illogical Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Er,” Jim clears his throat awkwardly as he moves his knight. “Are you mad at me?”
> 
> “Whatever gave you that idea, Kirk?” 
> 
> “You’re going to decapitate your queen.”

Jim does _not_ want to play chess with Nyota Uhura.

For one, she scares him. For another, she’s probably Spock’s girlfriend.

That last reason isn’t much of a reason as an excuse.

Does Jim like Spock? Yeah, of course. He’d like to go on a date with him, maybe hold his hand a bit, take a shot at those weird Vulcan courting rituals Bones mentioned, but he’s never intended on actually _doing_ anything about it. Aside from her cold attitude, he has no reason to resent Nyota. He’s pretty sure it’s because he tutored her roommate, Gaila, first semester. The Orion had been coming onto him and Jim just hadn’t been feeling it, and the communications major walked in at the worst possible moment, as per Jim’s usual luck. That girl can hold a grudge.

He feels, as Spock would put it, “illogically” betrayed by her interest in the professor.

In the movies, this is when the main character gathers up all their courage and runs across some iconic location in some big, famous city (the Golden Gate Bridge is a popular choice), to declare their undying love for their secret infatuation before they can be stolen away from them forever, but the fact that it’s _Nyota Uhura_ means Jim is _doubly_ not going to attempt it.

Ignoring the fact that Jim doesn’t even know if Spock is _gay_ or into guys in general, or has a sex drive, never mind the capacity to feel romantic emotions, when you have a choice between little ol’ Jimmy Kirk and fucking Nyota Uhura, you choose Nyota Uhura, _obviously._

She’s beautiful and captivating. Anyone in their right mind would choose her. She’s _perfect_. Smart, diligent, studious, and a hard worker who refuses to take shit from anyone. She’s the _dream_.

Meanwhile, Jim is the one who gets voted off those dumb dating shows within five minutes. He’s awkward and always looks like he’s just rolled out of bed because he can’t be bothered to do much self-care when he’s got class before the sun comes up and finishes the day after the sun has gone down. Setting aside his illogical human emotions that are always so overwhelming, Bones says he’d be a perfect theatre kid, if he wasn’t so Goddamn _shy_ when it came to things that mattered, he’s not an idiot.

He’s not _bad_ looking, exactly, but he’s not _good_ looking either. He’s bland. He’s tall in a way that makes him awkward, and his voice will dip in and out of different octaves if he isn’t paying attention. He hasn’t had to dress himself in anything but his Starfleet uniform —and more recently, his uniform for the cafe— in the past two and a half years, and he wouldn’t know what to do if he had to wear something else. His eyes, which he’s been told are “okay looking” are often swampy and glazed over from too much caffeine and his freckles are the bane of his existence.

Setting aside the whole blatant Nyota Uhura is fucking hot as hell part, from a completely objective standpoint, why would Spock choose _Jim_ , who is so obviously _male_?

Same-sex couples can’t have children, not biologically anyway, without a donor or some sort of intervention, and he doubts Spock would see the logic in having a partner who can’t do the one thing humans exist for; reproduction.

Jim is the illogical choice.

The _wrong_ choice.

So he supposes it’s a good thing he never plans on telling Spock, and braces himself to sit down and play a match against the Vulcan’s girlfriend, offering to play black.

They begin.

Nyota sets down her pieces with a certain firmness that leads him to believe she has a vendetta against the marble board. She’s playing to win, and something tells him it’s not just the game.

Jim doesn’t know what he’s done to annoy her, unless she _knows_.

“Er,” Jim clears his throat awkwardly as he moves his knight. “Are you mad at me?”

“Whatever gave you that idea, Kirk?”

“You’re going to decapitate your queen.” He nods at the tight grip she has on the chess piece.

Without loosening her grip, she takes one of his pawns. The atmosphere is thick enough to strangle as Jim tries to focus on a strategy to win and not the beautiful woman who wants him dead.

“How’d you know I played?” he asks because he really can’t handle the quiet.

“I didn’t,” says Nyota stiffly. “Someone said I should ask you for a game.”

“Oh?”

Bones doesn’t talk to Nyota, and he can’t think of any one else he interacts with who knows about his liking for chess. Unless— did Spock ask Nyota to play chess with him?

“It’s your move, Kirk.”

Jim makes his move, his mouth quirking into a nervous smile. “Um, checkmate.”

Nyota looks ready to blow a fuse.

“It was a good game, want to play again?”

“No,” she says, her teeth grinding against each other.

“Okay.” Jim stands up. He’s almost out the door when he remembers. “Hey, I was just wondering, who told you— and you’re not even here anymore. Okay.” His partially raised hand in question drops to his side.

Well, that settles that, he supposes.

It doesn’t really matter anyway.

He had no intention of making his affections for Spock evident, so there’s no reason for him to be jealous of Nyota. It would be illogical, so he supposes it’s a good thing he’s not jealous.

He’s _envious_.

He hates himself for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Envy vs jealousy: Envy is the desire to have something someone else has, jealousy is the fear of losing something you have to someone else.


	20. The Substitute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Greetings,” says a voice Jim knows all too well. “I have been assigned as an indefinite replacement for your usual Interspecies Protocol teacher, as she has entered labour 20.64 minutes prior to my entering this room.”

Jim walks into class to find that the usual teacher is not there. 

He takes his usual seat next to Gary, who hasn’t mentioned the whole “Spock is a freak thing” in a while. Probably because Bones has sacred him shitless about it. Taking out his notebook and textbook, he taps his pencil against the table insistently.

“Stop that,” Gary says. “Next thing you know, it’ll go flying across the room, or you’ll break it.”

“I can’t help it,” Jim says, bringing the pencil to his mouth, chewing on it.

“Oh, don’t do that! That’s even worse! You’ll get a splinter in your lip and that’ll be awkward to tell the nurse.”

The blond rolls his eyes.

He pretends to be interested as Gary begins to tell him about his latest hook-up, only paying partial attention. It’s better to let the dark haired cadet rattle on for as long as he wants rather than try and interrupt him, something Jim’s learnt the hard way in this unusual friendship he shares with his coworker.

The door opens and in walks—

_No way._

“So I told her that she could trust me, cause you know, who can distrust this face, right? But then—”

“Gary, be quiet a minute.”

Jim squints, just a tad bit, then takes out his PADD and types a quick message.

_hi wat r u doing_

He cringes at the way it’s written but presses send. He can worry about what he’ll think of him and his terrible spelling and grammar later.

“What are you doing?”

“Just shush, okay?” Jim demands, watching the person at the front of the room intently.

There’s a flash of light from the person’s PADD. Unable to see their expression, the barista leans forwards in his seat.

Gary holds out his arm. “Hey, you lean any more, you’ll start falling.”

Jim taps his pencil against his thigh as he watches the person’s next moves. He’s too far to see anything clearly as they take the centre of the room. The pencil finds its way into his mouth and he begins biting it again, much to Gary’s displeasure.

“Greetings,” says a voice Jim knows all too well. “I have been assigned as an indefinite replacement for your usual Interspecies Protocol teacher, as she has entered labour 20.64 minutes prior to my entering this room.”

The room, as expected, descends into chaos.

“What’s with your ears?!”

“Why are you green?”

The substitute teacher raises their head. Jim’s breath catches in his throat.

_It can’t be._

“I am Commander Spock of the planet Vulcan. Due to my heritage, the Deoxyribonucleic acid configuration which gives me the countenance which you see presently is not wholly human. As your aspirations in joining Starfleet are pressumably to explore the galaxy, I suggest you become accustomed to seeing those who do not resemble yourselves.”

_Crack._

“Great, your lip’s bleeding! You can’t afford to ruin the only thing you’ve got going for you.”

Jim can’t even tell Gary to shut up as the metallic taste of blood enters his mouth because _holy shit it is._

There are some murmurs around the room. If Bones were here, he’d probably say something like “all he had to say was he’s Vulcan”, but since he’s not, Jim will settle for being proud of his Vulcan friend as he ignores the wooden pieces of his pencil on his tongue. It’s probably toxic. Might kill him. He’ll think about that later.

“As per the syllabus, the lecture will comprise of the following topics—”

“Why aren’t you taking attendance?” demands one student.

Jim could punch them in the throat for being so rude. Can’t they see that Spock feels uncomfortable in a room full of strangers?

Spock barely seems shaken. “It is illogical.”

“Illogical?” a student echoes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Spock’s eyes narrow through the sea of red uniforms. “Cadet O’Brien, for what purpose was Starfleet created?”

“To learn about the unknown,” says Finnegan O’Brien. “Sir,” he adds quickly.

“Affirmative. It was created in the pursuit of understanding the world beyond. To form relations, diplomatic and personal, across the galaxy.”

“In English, please?”

Even a dumbass like Finnegan should be able to figure something as simple as this out. “If you can’t even bother to show up to class, how strong can your desire for knowledge be?” Jim whispers.

Spock hears it.

Blue meets onyx across a sea of students.

“That is correct,” Spock says. Jim thinks he catches a slight tremor in his voice. “It is a ‘waste of time’, as you say, to bother with those who do not believe in the Academy’s goals. Now, if there are not more interjections, I shall proceed with the lesson.”


	21. Never Inquired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought you were like, a science researcher or something, not a fucking professor! I mean …” Jim pinches the bridge of his nose. _Mouth, form words._ “Not a fucking professor, you don’t give lessons in sex,” _as far as I am aware? Do Vulcans do that sort of thing?Now is so not the time to be thinking about this sort of shit._ “You never said you were a teacher.”

Spock is his teacher.

_SPOCK IS HIS TEACHER._

Throughout class, Jim is having a nice, quiet panic attack that borders on hyperventilation.

Why didn't he ever tell him? Did he have to tell him? Are he and Jim close enough for Spock to tell him? He feels like they are. Did Spock not feel comfortable enough to tell Jim? Or did it just never come up?

Another part of him is freaking out because _holy shit, Spock’s not totally Vulcan._ Or at least, Jim assumes he isn’t. His remark that he isn’t “wholly human” means that there must be a part of him that _is_ right? So wouldn’t that mean he has the capacity to feel attraction? Potentially to stupid baristas who can barely unknot their tongues?

He’s thinking stupid things again.

Spock teaches with a relatively flat tone, administering information like a textbook. He speaks quickly, and concisely and Jim almost smacks Gary for a pencil since his now broken and he can’t afford to lose vital information. His coworker warns him not to break it, and don’t slobber on it either, because if he even _thinks_ about putting it anywhere near his mouth, he’ll be cleft in twain. This is said in addition to the usual judgemental look. It’s more efficient to take notes on his PADD, like every other, _normal_ Starfleet student, but Jim likes the feel of paper and he needs to do _something_ with his hands.

When the class ends, Jim nearly trips over his own feet in his rush to talk to the Vulcan. He’s slowed down when his PADD beeps, and Nyota Uhura gets to Spock first.

It’s like being doused in cold water.

Right.

Nyota.

How the fuck did he forget about Nyota?

_Get your head on straight, Kirk. You got class soon._

Except he doesn’t. Interspecies Protocol is his last class of the day. He has thirty minutes before his shift at work, since Bones insists he take breaks. He’s always clocked in early, but he’ll take it now. As soon as Nyota leaves, he’ll ask.

Jim waits a safe distance away— which is to say, far enough that he won’t hear their plans for their upcoming date— and checks his PADD.

He’s got a new message.

_Jim,_

_I have extrapolated from your poorly constructed message you wish to know what I am currently doing. At the time of your message being sent, I was teaching a class on interspecies protocol, which I have found yourself to be enrolled in._

_I do hope that you do not regularly send messages to your teacher during class time._

_Spock_

The blond laughs.

Nyota sends a glare in his direction, harsh enough to send shivers down his spine, before she turns back to Spock. They talk for a little longer, then she bows (apparently he’s not the only one who does that), and leaves.

“Spock,” Jim greets as he approaches the professor.

“You have read my message?”

“Yeah. Kinda redundant at this point, isn’t it?” He clears his throat awkwardly. He’s got time before his shift, the cafe isn’t that far from the Academy. He can take his time, think his words through carefully, come up with an eloquent way to phrase this.

“I was just uh, curious why you never mentioned this before?”

_Whelp, seems like we’re going this route._

Spock’s brows furrow. “Clarify.”

“This. Your job.”

“You were aware of my employment at Starfleet.”

“Yeah, but I thought you were like, a science researcher or something, not a fucking professor! I mean …” Jim pinches the bridge of his nose. _Mouth, form words._ “Not a fucking professor, you don’t give lessons in sex,” _as far as I am aware? Do Vulcans do that sort of thing?Now is so not the time to be thinking about this sort of shit._ “You never said you were a teacher.”

“I am not.”

“A professor, then.”

“You have never inquired.”

Jim opens his mouth to say something back, but he finds he can’t refute his point. “I just … I guess I figured it was something you’d tell me. Since it’s something friends do.”

Spock closes his eyes for too long for it to be a blink. “You believe us to be friends?”

_Shit._

He overstepped. He’s _totally_ overstepped. He’s misinterpreted everything and now Spock’s going to throw him out into the hallway on his ass, and he’s never going to visit the coffee shop again and Jim won’t be able to handle the embarrassment so he’ll stop coming to class and then he’ll fail the course and then he won’t have enough credits to graduate so he’ll be held back a year and when he starts complaining about how he isn’t in space yet, Bones will get sick of his ass and fire him and he won’t be able to pay rent so he’ll get kicked out his apartment and then he won’t have a way to commute to school so he’ll have to drop out and then with all his funds and savings invested in Starfleet and a future that never was, he’ll become a hobo on the street and be forced to try and sing for money, which totally won’t work because that’s some sort of 21st century shit you did in those old metro stations, and then he’ll have to resort to selling his body and he’ll end up dying from some STD from on the job, or he’ll get a client who’s so obsessed with him, they stalk him and end up murdering him in a fit of passion when they find out Jim prefers to do things other than have sex, but that probably won’t even happen cause Jim’s not even attractive enough to do the whole prostitute thing, so that just means he’ll end up trying to sell drugs, get addicted, and die in a dumpster due to infection from being so close to his own fecal matter and urine.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing his neck. “D-don’t you?”

Spock’s brow furrows.

“Wait, don’t answer that!” says the blond quickly. He doesn’t want to hear the Vulcan reject his hand of friendship aloud. “I was making assumptions. You know what they say, makes an ass out of me and you.”

Spock tilts his head just the slightest bit. “You are … engaging in word play.”

“Um, yeah,” says Jim, licking his suddenly dry lips. Ah, he almost forgot about the blood.“Anyway, I’ll get going. I have a shift. I’ll just …” He bites his lip. It’s still bleeding. Bones is going to lecture him about it.

Spock notices. “You are injured.”

“Not really,” says the cadet, touching his lip lightly and seeing the small blotch of red.

“You require medical treatment.”

“No, I really don’t,” he says hurriedly. Can this get any more humiliating? First he forgets about Spock’s girlfriend, then he calls them friends, when clearly, nothing about their relationship has given him such a freedom, and now, despite how uncomfortable he must be making the Vulcan, he’s insisting on helping Jim for an injury that’s the result of his own stupidity. “I’ll have Bones look at it. I’ll see you … later,” he says, careful to walk around Spock so as not to touch him by accident.

_Idiot,_ he reprimands himself. What is he even doing?


	22. Placeholder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sorry, I hacked your system. Bones made me do it._

_Friend: a person whom one knows and with whom has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations._

Jim thinks he and Spock are friends. Spock is not sure it is the correct term for his relationship with the cadet. It does not seem _unfitting_ , but it does not convey all which Spock suspects it is meant to.

When Spock enters the coffee shop to procure his tea, Jim appears to be avoiding him. The Vulcan approaches the barista while he is updating the menu on the projector screen. Spock understands that it is not “fair” to “corner” Jim, however he finds it to be the most adequate approach.

“I was unaware that you regarded me as your friend.”

Jim quite literally jumps in surprise, his PADD falling from his grip. The professor catches it easily and places it on the table.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Gratitude is not necessary,” says the green-blooded man.

The blond bites the inside of his cheek. It is an illogical action, much like the cadet himself. “Uh, can we pretend the whole ‘friend’ thing didn’t happen?”

“As I was unaware that you regarded me as a friend,” the word feels strange on his tongue, odder than Standard, “I have acted inappropriately, for which I offer my apologies. Though I have no appropriate name for our current relationship, I shall use ‘friend’ as a placeholder, until I find a more suitable one.”

“Um … is this your way of telling me we _are_ friends?”

“Affirmative.”

Jim smiles at him. Illogically, Spock wants to smile back.

  
There is a mug on his desk with froth in the design of the Command Starfleet insignia. Underneath the mug is a napkin with the logo of the coffee shop where Jim is employed.

“Computer, who has entered my office in the past 8.47 hours?”

“Commander Spock,” replies the computer.

“Display security feedback for the aforementioned time frame.”

The computer opens its video footage, rewinding rapidly when he notices it.

“Stop. Play from the start of 1400 hours.”

At 1412, the door to Spock’s office opens and Jim Kirk stumbles inside. He looks behind him nervously, mug in hand, taking to someone not in the view of the camera. He watches as Jim moves around his office. His lips are moving. Spock hypothesizes that he is speaking to himself, though he cannot hear, given the limitations of Starfleet security. The cadet places the napkin underneath the beverage, placing it on the corner of his desk. The Vulcan wrinkles his nose ever so slightly. The liquid is too close to his copy of _Galaxy Science Fiction,_ an illogical gift from Mother after his acceptance into Starfleet. Jim looks at the book, reaching out for it, before instead taking the mug and placing it in another spot of the desk. It in close proximity to the computer. The blond takes the beverage again and places it on the separate desk Spock often consumes his nutrition on, with the closest electronic device and paper being 5.23 meters away. 

Jim wipes his brow, then his eyes settle on the camera, looking directly at it. He looks around the room for approximately 3.67 minutes, turning over papers though Spock suspects he is not reading them, before he carefully takes the napkin out from beneath the drink. He takes a marker from Spock’s desk, uncapping it and placing the aforementioned cap in his mouth,— a terrible habit Spock is not remotely impressed by— and writes something on the napkin before placing the mug underneath it again. He places the marker back exactly where he found it, before going over to the computer and sitting down in front of it.

For approximately 24.78 minutes, Jim sits in front of the computer before standing up and leaving.

Spock carefully removes the napkin from beneath the mug and turns it over.

_Hey_

_Sorry, I hacked your system. Bones made me do it._

_J_

The words are written with a shaky hand.

He drinks the sugary concoction. It reduces his efficiency by 7.61%. He sends Jim a quick thank you message using his PADD.

Yes, friend is a good place holder.


	23. Teasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s not that green,” Jim says. “More like … green-tinted.”
> 
> “Sounds like he’s sick all the time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know if you guys care too much about a life update along with your fic chapter, but uh I got a new pet. And have learnt that if I don't play country Taylor Swift music, or 8 hour nature sounds to them, they'll get angry. BUT it doesn't seem to mind that I edit my writing aloud and enjoys hearing about this awkward!Jim I've created, so we're not in trouble yet!

Spock is his teacher again.

Part of Jim is super excited, the concept of getting to see Spock more often is appealing. Another part of him wonders why the fuck his teacher was so pregnant in the first place that she needed a replacement just two months into the semester.

He and Gary take their seats as usual.

“You going to need the nurse again?” asks Gary, with a teasing grin.

“I was just … surprised,” Jim says, taking out his notebook.

“Sure.”

“What?”

“You’re weird about him.”

“Who?”

They both know who.

“Don’t bullshit me. You’re transparent like water,” says Gary, rolling his eyes. “What is it that does it for you? The ears? The green skin?”

“He’s not that green,” Jim says. “More like … green-tinted.”

“Sounds like he’s sick all the time,” Gary bemuses. “I’m just saying the Vulcan ain’t all that impressive. Sure, he’s different, but who ever said different was good?”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Obviously.”

“Roll your eyes that way, and they’ll get stuck.”

Gary punches him in the shoulder with enough force to send Jim teetering to the side. His eyes catch Nyota’s from across the room and his throat goes dry.

He’s not sure what her problem with him is, but that’s okay. Not everyone likes him. He’s fine with that. It would be nice to know why Spock’s girl is glaring daggers into his head though.

“That did nothing to ya? Maybe I should’ve hit you harder,” teases the dark haired barista.

Jim’s PADD pings.

Spock’s sent him a message.

“You’re grinning.”

“Am I not allowed to?”

“Nah, grin all you want. If you want people thinking you’re a serial killer.”

Jim shields his expression as he reads his new mail, and snorts at the line asking whether this newly acquired friendship means regular breaking and entering.

He sets his PADD aside, pulling out his textbook when class begins. Shielding his face form Gary with his notebook, Jim hunches forward in his seat, and continues to smile, already composing his reply to Spock.


	24. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You may be a psychologist, but you’re not _my_ psychologist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD getting my brain out of Marvel for a minute because GOD I wrote a giant thing for them, and DAMN, it was a lot and took a lot of energy and then Deadpool always takes my energy, but here you go.  
> Also, sorry in advance.

Jim tilts his head to the side as he stares at himself in the mirror.

This is stupid. He _knows_ it’s stupid. Gary didn’t mean anything by it, he was just teasing. It’s what friends _do_ and it was _weeks_ ago. Still …

The thing about Jim is he doesn’t spend a lot of time looking at himself. He wakes up at the crack of dawn, gets dressed in the dark, goes for a run, and comes home in the dark. As an insomniac, Jim gets very little sleep and often plays chess on his PADD late into the night and early morning. He knows it’s bad for his eyes, he knows it doesn’t help him sleep, but it calms his nerves and it’s better than staring at the ceiling, or watching the numbers slowly change on the clock.

Normally, he’d go for a run at this point. It’s early enough that if anyone is about, they’d think he’s an over-eager, health nut, who runs to watch the sun rise. He does that, sometimes. Not today though. Today, he’s staring at himself.

His skin has gotten a bit pale, making the bags beneath his eyes even more obvious. He has blue eyes, which he’s been told is nice. He takes a photo on his PADD of himself with his eyes open, and zooms in.

They’re unfocused and doing that weird chameleon thing they do every now and then, looking in two directions at once. The pupils are dilated, and the skin around his eye sockets give him the impression of a skeleton.

He shaves, every few days, but his chin almost always feels itchy. He’s never quite gotten used to shaving, and he prefers using a normal razor, even though he’s nicked himself a few times already. His skin looks fine, until you stare a bit longer and the blemishes become more obvious. He could use a dermal regenerator, but he’s not sure how he feels about having what he thinks of as “artificial skin”.

He has concealer. He used to use it to cover bruises after fights, but Bones got him to stop participating in those a few semesters back. Every now and then, when he remembers, he applies some. It helps lessen the disaster that is his face.

His lips are cracking, as they always do when he doesn’t keep them moist. He has a makeup kit with at least three different tubes of lip balm just to keep the skin from peeling, not that he’s used it in a while. Maybe he wouldn’t look so terrible if he bothered to look after himself a bit more, but he doubts it.

_“Grin all you want. If you want people thinking you’re a serial killer.”_

He smiles in the mirror.

His teeth are fine, he supposes. They’re not falling out, always a plus. He could afford to floss a bit more, and they could be whiter. His eyes crinkle a bit, which he thinks is normal. No one’s ever mentioned it before. His mouth hurts a bit, the worn skin of his lips pulling slightly. He knows when he smiles, his face folds in weird ways, forming unusual creases. He pulls at the skin at his cheeks, making weird faces in the mirror. He has freckles, which are kind of light, but they stick out since he’s gotten so pale. They’re small, and scattered, mainly concentrated on his nose, but even without his pale skin to make them more obvious, _he_ knows they’re there, which makes them stick out to him.

It’s not _that_ weird, is it? The way he smiles?

He doesn’t trust his own judgement, and he’s dialling before he can think better of it.

“Do you have any idea what fucking time it is, kid?”

Jim grimaces. “Never mind sorry—”

“No, get it out, you’ve already got me on the line.” Bones is tired and it makes his drawl even more pronounced. When he voice gets this thick with gruffness, it somehow translates to “I put up with you because I love you”. Jim appreciates it.

The cadet draws a deep breath. This is fine. He can tell him, it’s no problem. If there’s one thing he can trust Leonard McCoy to be, it’s patient when it counts. He can take his time, figure out the right way to put this, so he doesn’t just blurt it out, but his throat is clogging up and he can’t breathe and his tongue feels like it weighs a thousand pounds and—

“Do I look like a serial killer?”

_Well. Seems like we’re going with that._

Bones laughs

He knows it doesn’t mean anything bad, he’s just caught the doctor off guard, and it’s late— or early, depending on how technical you want to be. He can’t blame him for this. He laughs nervously along with Bones’ hearty chortle.

“So that’s a yes?” he asks half-joking.

“No, that’s not a yes,” says his friend. “Where do you get these ideas, Jim?” The blond can just _see_ him shaking this head. “No, you don’t look like a serial killer.”

“Not even when I smile?”

“Did someone say something to you?” He sounds sober now, all traces of laughter gone.

“No—”

“Bullshit. Someone had to have said something. You don’t just go calling people asking if you look like you belong behind bars.”

“So there’s something to say.” Jim wonders if he looks less menacing if he keeps a neutral expression?

“There’s always _something_ to say,” says Bones, and he can feel the eye roll over the connection. “Doesn’t mean that something’s gotta be a bad thing. What’s up with you? Are you getting bullied?”

“No, don’t worry yourself.”

“I’m always going to worry about you, kid.”

“Don’t you have a test tomorrow? I’m fine.”

“You’d say you’re fine on your deathbed.”

Jim doesn’t deny it.

“Look, don’t worry. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Just because you can handle it, doesn’t mean you should have to. I _can_ handle 72 hour shifts, doesn’t mean I want to.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “I’m all good, really, Bones. And don’t tell me that just cause I think I’m fine doesn’t mean I’m fine and reassuring you so many times is making you doubt my sincerity. You may be a psychologist, but you’re not _my_ psychologist.”

“I can get you one, you know. Pull a few favours,” Bones offers.

“If I need it, I’ll ask for it.”

They both know he won’t.

“Anyway, go and study. I’ll survive.”

Before Bones can protest, Jim hangs up.

He feels vain as he looks at the photo of himself.

He broke his nose a few years ago. Someone had said something about his mother, and he had bitten off more than he could chew. It shows. His eyes feel too wide apart, while simultaneously being too close.

 _Stupid_ , he thinks to himself as he deletes the photo.

He’s being stupid, he _knows_ he’s being stupid as he gets up and rummages through the apartment’s cupboards until he finds what he needs.

 _It didn’t mean anything,_ he reminds himself as he marches back to the bathroom, item in hand. The words turn to white noise as he rips from the roll, again and again, his nail unable to rip it free, tearing at it with his mouth, cutting open his lip.

The buzz in the back of his mind continues for the next few minutes as he tears and rips and applies and sticks and then he steps back and sees that he’s duct tapped his mirror.

He falls to his knees, curling into the fetal position. His fingers burn from the tape, his mouth tastes like copper, his whole body is shaking as he tries to focus on the ache of his digits, and anything other than the fact that it’s 3 AM, and he’s sitting on his bathroom floor in a ball because he can’t stand the sight of his own reflection.

He’s a disaster.

Illogical choice indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I head canon he has freckles. Fight me on this.


	25. Coward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Are you jealous?”_
> 
> _“Of you?” His voice was way too high. “What? No!” Way too low._ _“No, not at all.” He coughed into his sleeve._ _“Why would you … think …_ shit _.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Surprise long chapter!

When Jim is six years old, he looks up at the sky for the first time and sees the universe.

He’s looked at the skies before, but it’s the first time that it _clicks_ and he understands, reaching out his tiny, chubby fist towards the untouchable balls of gas that have confounded the human race for years.

The universe is big and vast, and he can’t wrap his head around it, not even now. It’s a concept, one you can see, but never touch. No one knows how it works, or truly understands it, try as they might to explain it with physics and chemistry and quantum mechanics. Theoretical sciences are only that, theoretical.

He remembers the old bedtime story his mother read from the 20th century, _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_. In it, the main character, Arthur Dent, looks at the universe in its entirety, and feels small and worthless in comparison to how big it is, filling him with a sense of hopelessness.

Jim doesn’t feel that. Not for a moment.

There’s so much out there to see, to explore, to _learn_. His hands reach up towards the skies without a second thought. He won’t get to it all, he knows that, there’s too much to be seen than can ever be seen, too much to do than can ever be done, but the only way Jim’ll die with regrets is if he doesn’t see as much as he possibly can. The first step is enlisting in Starfleet.

He loves his classes just fine, he loves learning. His mother says he’s always been an academic at heart. All the same, sometimes it’s hard and he loses sleep and track of time, so he keeps his window open every night, knowing that it’s stupid and impractical in the winter, but it means he’s got one less barrier between himself and the stars.

Though people go out into it every day, space is still unknown, the mystery never ending because _space never ends_.

Jim runs a lot, for exercise, to clear his head, when things get too much.

He runs when he needs a distraction because sometimes he just _can’t_ , and there’s too much work and his body feels sluggish and slow and unwilling to move so he reminds himself why he’s here and he runs in the night, with his head tilted skywards, mapping out the constellations he chases in his dreams, imagines dancing on Saturn’s rings.

He runs in silence, with nature as his only soundtrack. The air clears his mind, and he’s reminded of the stillness of space. He remembers he used to send letters to the Man on the Moon, ask him how he’s been. If he’s lonely up there. But the pros always outweigh the cons, and his mother’s always said that Earth is too small to contain him and his head full of fantasies of playing hide and seek in craters, without a spacesuit. He’s been told that it’s boring up there, not nearly as amazing as you imagine it. Sometimes you’re forced to stay idle and do nothing, just have a cartographer note whether or not galaxies are moving closer since the last check, but to Jim everything would be an adventure. He’d be floating through the stars, the way he’s always dreamed, because if the view is breathtaking from way down here, he can’t imagine what they’ll be like up close.

The thing about space, Jim finds, is that there shouldn't be any fear.

Sure, there’s a part of him that’s scared that if he touches the surface of a planet, he’ll ruin it. He’ll taint it somehow, trip and fall, set off an intergalactic volcano or annoy an alien and set off a war in a fragile ecosystem with an unstable government system, but all the same, space is dangerous and you have to take it with a grain of salt.

Because yes, it could be scary, it could be terrifying, it _is_ , but it could be so amazing.

Stars don’t twinkle up there. The reason they look like they do has to do with the light travelling to your eye. It’s amazing that he can stare at a star that’s long dead, but to him it’s still alive. He knows that black holes are impossible to find until you’re inside them, asteroids are much larger than they appear on paper, and no one can hear you scream in space. But without gravity, you can’t fall either.

So he runs and he lets the crickets guide him as he clears his mind and sorts through his thoughts and gets his head on straight because his conversation with Nyota is haunting him, and is making his insomnia all the worse.

_“Why are you seeing Professor Spock?”_

_Jim nearly choked on his pear. “W-what?”_

_“Did I stutter?”_

_“N-no, I just …” Jim shook his head. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”_

_Nyota’s face screwed up like she had just smelt something rotten._

_“He goes to the coffee shop I work at,” he said with a shrug. “I get him his tea.”_

_“Chai?”_

_“Normally it’s Vulcan. Sometimes he spices things up.” He resisted pulling at his collar as the heat rose on his cheeks. “Why were_ **_you_ ** _with Spock?”_

_Nyota’s eye twitched. “What makes you think you can refer to him so casually?”_

She had a point. And Jim doesn’t have an excuse, unless he wants to say that they’re friends. Of a sort. “Placeholder”, Spock had said. Jim’ll take it.

He just can’t imagine calling Spock “Professor”. The title suits him, sure, but they aren’t that far apart in age so it’s hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that the Vulcan who flinches at the prospect of chocolate milk has a teaching degree.

His guard had dropped with her question, which was what made her next question so scary.

_“Are you jealous?”_

_Jim choked on his pear. “Oh, no, not really. I just um, you’re beautiful, obviously, you’re really beautiful, but I don’t uh, I’ve never really thought about … us like that so …”_

_“I meant of me.”_

_“Of you?” His voice was way too high. “What? No!” Way too low._ _“No, not at all.” He coughed into his sleeve._ _“Why would you … think …_ shit _.”_

_“You thought we were dating.”_

_“I mean, well, er, yeah— wait, you weren’t?”_

_“No.” She sounded stiff._

_“But you wanted to be.”_

_“Is that a problem?”_

_“No! Listen, it’s not bad. I mean, who hasn’t had a crush on their teacher?” He licked his suddenly dry lips. “You’re not obvious. Really. This isn’t like, I know your secret, I must die, you’re so transparent or something. It’s uh, how do I put it? You … it’s the little things.” He stared at the ground, wishing the floor would swallow him up and end his misery. “You wouldn’t see it if you weren’t looking for it.”_

_Nyota stared at him intensely, her eyes seemingly peering into his soul. “Don’t think just cause you play chess I’ll go easy on you.”_

_“What does chess have to do with this?”_

_Nyota rolled her eyes, and it was as if she was suddenly younger, someone he might’ve actually spent time with. She looked_ **_human_ ** _for the firs time. “Listen, Kirk. I don’t like you. Since you’re vying for the professor’s attention—”_

_“I’m not.”_

She had looked surprised by that.

Jim doubts she’s ever had to deal with rejection, not with her looks. He doesn’t want to throw his hat into the ring against such a beautiful woman for the heart of the Vulcan. That’ll most likely just end in humiliation for him. She had stared at him with such confusion, like she couldn’t comprehend his actions at all. She had asked him about it, and it was _that_ part that haunted him more than anything else.

_Nyota raised her eyebrow. “You like him, don’t you?”_

_The blond scratched the back of his neck, rocking on his heels. He bit his lips. “I uh, yeah.”_

_“But you’re not going to fight for him.”_

_He shrugged._

_“Why not?”_

_“No point.”_

_Her glare turned hard._

It’s self-preservation. As much as he doesn’t believe in no-win scenarios, it’s hard to see his affection for Spock as anything less. He’s been trying not to take her judgement too seriously. It’s not her fault Jim’s self-esteem is invisible under the most advanced microscope.

The crickets are doing a shit job at letting him forget. He speeds up and watches Orion’s belt, the classic constellations are still on his ceiling back in Iowa. He remembers that afternoon set aside with glow-in-the-dark paint, laughing with Mom and getting paint stuck on his nose. They set up a tent in his room and pretended they were sleeping underneath the real stars. She let him talk for hours about the history behind every dot on the ceiling, why it had its name, the story that came with it, and the way it changed position depending on the time of year, looking at him like he had hung the stars himself. He misses her a lot. He should call her soon.

“Jim?”

Jim freezes.

No one’s ever out this late. The sun hasn’t risen, only an idiot would be out at this time, but he knows that voice and it sure as fuck doesn’t belong to an idiot.

“Spock.”

The Vulcan walks towards him and Jim is stuck in place, unable to move. He feels trapped, and he doesn’t know why. He’s out in the open, he can go anywhere he wants, but his limbs are refusing to cooperate. He can’t just book it either because he’s a dumb fucker who acknowledged Spock in the first place so it’ll seem super suspicious if he just starts sprinting to his apartment.

“You should be sleeping,” greets the professor.

“So should you.”

“Vulcans do not require the same quantity of sleep as humans.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t need any,” Jim points out.

Spock blinks for an extended period of time, before replying. “It is 0200. Your ‘morning runs’ do not commence for another three hours.”

_“You like him, don’t you?”_

_“I uh, yeah.”_

“Sometimes I mix up the schedule. Humans be unpredictable like that.” Sleep deprived, thoughtful Jim is _not_ someone he wants Spock to meet. “What are you doing out here?”

Spock’s eyebrows furrow. “By ‘out here’ I am to assume you are referring to the Starfleet campus, which I am currently residing on in order to check on a time sensitive experiment in the seventeenth laboratory of the science department.”

“Oh, cool.”

_“But you’re not going to fight for him. Why not?”_

_“No point.”_

Spock eyes him up and down. “You are cold.”

“No, it’s an expression,” Jim says, wishing he could dig himself a hole to Mars. It would mean he’s in space faster, and away from this humiliating situation. “What’s it about?”

“If you wish to see the experiment, I may show it to you. I believe it may be of interest to you.”

Jim swallows. “You know what? I think you were onto something earlier, I _am_ cold,” he lies through his teeth. “I’ve got to get back to my apartment. Can’t have Bones worrying about me.” He lives alone. Spock doesn’t need to know.

_“I never took you for a coward, Kirk.”_

“Another time, perhaps.”

“Yeah, sure.”

He’s not a coward.

He turns on his heel to leave when the Vulcan drapes something over his shoulders. It’s a cloth. It’s his jacket. _Holy shit, I’m living in some 1980s rom-com._ “I don’t need it.”

“As you are the weaker species with a lower metabolism, it is only natural that you protect your internal bodily systems as they are more susceptible to disease.”

“Erm … thanks. I think.” Jim frowns. “Did you just insult the entire human race?”

“I was merely making an observation.”

“You won’t be cold without it?”

“I am capable of functioning without the extra layer of material.”

“But will you be cold?” Jim insists, which, he doesn’t know why he’s doing that. He really likes the faint smell he gets from the fabric, which he can’t quite place, but knows he enjoys. “I know Vulcan’s much hotter than Earth, you’re used to higher temperatures.”

“My body has adjusted to that of Earth.”

He’s being oddly evasive, but Jim wants to get the fuck out of here, so he lets it slide.

“Thanks. I’ll give it back to you er, next time you drop by for coffee?”

“Affirmative.”

“Right … Uh, see ya.”

He’s not a coward, he reminds himself as he walks away. This is self preservation. He clings to the jacket a bit tighter than he should, and he knows he’s fucked. Saving himself the pain of being rejected by Spock hardly does him any good when the Vulcan has eyes the colour of the night sky he yearns to touch.


	26. Acute Viral Nasopharyngitis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m a disaster.”
> 
> “That, we can agree on,” hums Bones. “You’re a complete wreck.”

“You’re _so_ obvious.”

Jim sighs, and drops his cup. There’s no point in pretending he isn’t staring. “I’m a disaster.”

“That, we can agree on,” hums Bones. “You’re a complete wreck.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Just telling you as it is.”

Jim leans against the counter, watching the Vulcan who sits with the PADD on the table, his back stiff as he reads through what Jim assumes, are student papers.

He knows he should be moving on. If Nyota hasn’t made a move yet, that means she plans to soon. She isn’t the type of person to let sleeping dogs lie. And once she does, whatever relationship he and Spock could have had will evaporate into smoke. Self-preservation is a good survival technique, one that he knows his important. He understands the theory. If the fact that his scent has begun mingling with the Vulcan’s own in his jacket is anything to go by, it appears he just can’t do the practical.

It’s stupid. It’s rom-comesque, the cliché that lasted well into the 22nd century of taking a significant other’s clothing and keeping it for yourself. He remembers wondering what the big deal was, until he walked in on his mother wearing his father’s Starfleet jacket one night, crying. He never questioned it again.

But the point is he and Spock _aren’t_ that, so there’s no reason for it.

He has to give it back. It’s all ready, the jacket is in the back, kept away from potential coffee stains and dirt. It might even be in better condition than when Spock had handed it to him three nights ago.

He scratches at his skin, along his knuckles. He needs something to do with his hands until he can get Spock in the backroom and give him back his jacket— which, fuck, sounds creepy as hell.

_Oh._

The skin breaks under his insistent nails, though he’s not sure how, considering he bites them too much to be good at anything. Heh. He’s bleeding a bit. He stares at the scab, and laughs. He hasn’t slept much, everything’s amusing to him now.

“You’re a walking bruise,” Bones comments as he opens the register and pulls out a bandaid.

“You can put those in the cash?”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want, so long as the owner doesn’t turn up,” says the Southern medical student.

Jim frowns. “Are there bandaids everywhere? Have you been hiding First Aid supplies haphazardly in the store?”

“Only where you frequent the most.”

“That’s insulting.”

“Didn’t mean it to be a compliment, Jim.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Hey, you know I’m just teasing.”

He’s used to this. Half-hearted insults and jabs at each other make up about 85% of all communications with Leonard McCoy.

“You going soft on me?”

“No, I just mean …” Bones scratches the back of his neck, and suddenly his gaze turns serious. “I’m gonna be a doctor Jim, but there are some things no doctor can fix.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t know what to say other than that, and the two of them stand in relative silence for a while, with Jim trying not to be too awkward about it and Bones giving him those “You’re going to fuck up so badly but I’ve got the bourbon ready” eyes.

  
After serving Spock his tea, Jim awkwardly rocks on his feet. “I’ve uh, I’ve got your jacket, if you want. It’s in the back?”

Spock gets up from his table and tucks his PADD beneath his arm. There’s something off about him, seeing him so close up. He’s stiffer, if possible.

The blond guides the Vulcan into the backroom and takes the jacket from the peg which usually holds aprons and caps, holding it out for him. “I er, I made sure to keep it clean, it should be in top condition.” _Even though I basically slept in it, and studied in it and oh shit what if I got a highlighter stain on it?_ “I wanted to wash it, but I didn’t know about the material since it’s not exactly a Starfleet standard type of thing.” It was warmer than Jim’s, which he’s pretty sure has to do with Spock being from a desert planet. “So it’s got some wrinkles since I didn’t know whether you iron it or erm … either way, you can just take it.”

He hands it over and instantly freezes.

“Fuck, you’re cold!”

“I am adequate.”

“Did you get sick? Shit, did I give you the flu or something? I told you, you should’ve kept the damn jacket.” What if Spock dies from a virus just because Jim was too much of a chicken to go to Lab 17 with him? That’d be a terrible thing on his conscience—

“I am adequate,” Spock repeats. “I sense an increase in adrenal and cortisol. Allow me to inform you that you need not worry, as Vulcans cannot get acute viral nasopharyngitis.”

As if to disprove his point, Spock shivers.

“Yeah, sure, I totally believe you. Fuck, this is my fault, isn’t it? Uh, Bones keeps some medicine in the cabinets, I just gotta find it.” The cadet begins searching through the cupboards, looking for the damn cold medicine, which he _knows_ is there, somewhere, though he’s not quite sure where.

“Oi, Jim, we’ve got some customers who need— this is a coffee shop, not a doctor’s office, I should know. What are you doing?”

Jim drops the pill bottle he’s finally found at the sound of Bones’ voice. “Uh. Hi.”

“Hi yourself. Wanna explain why Gary is taking all your usual clients?”

“Spock’s sick.”

“I thought Vulcans can’t get sick.”

“You are correct, Doctor. Jim is merely exaggerating the condition of my wellbeing. I shall depart n—”

Jim blinks.

Bones blinks.

Spock sniffles.

“Did the hobgoblin just _sneeze_?”

He did. And it’s the most adorable sound Jim’s ever heard in his Goddamn life.

It also confirms that Spock is sick.

Bones shoos him out of the room, ranting about how he won’t have Jim catching some Vulcan flu, and the blond is put back to work, alongside Gary.

“Hope the freak doesn’t leave behind any weird-ass germs.”

Jim would very much like to punch his coworker in the face, but a customer asks for a cappuccino before he can. He serves them with a tightly lipped smile, all the while wondering how Spock’s doing.


	27. Check In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A friend?” Sarek echoes, as though the word is foreign on his lips.
> 
> “Yes. James Tiberius Kirk of Earth,” says Amanda. “Seems he’s got your habit of mingling with humans.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got an anime con going on this weekend, so I'm updating now to make up for the lack of an update on Sunday. TADA, NEW NARRATOR OUT OF NOWHERE!

Every month, Amanda Grayson requests to speak to her son face to face. Because of the time difference between Vulcan and Earth, they alternate between calling times, with Amanda calling at 2 AM Vulcan time, but more often than not, Spock rings her mid-afternoon, as he insists that Vulcans require less sleep than humans. He does not want to “inconvenience” her, as though speaking to her own child is a _burden_.

He takes after Sarek in many ways.

As the two of them speak this month, it’s impossible for Amanda to miss that something is off about the half-Vulcan.

“Are you sick?”

Spock straightens his posture. “Vulcans do not get sick, Mother.”

Though it was agreed upon by both her and Sarek that Spock be brought up according to his Vulcan heritage, there is a part of her that dies a little knowing she will never hear her son call her “Mom”.

“Your nose looks a little green,” Amanda points out with a small smile.

Spock frowns. “It is of no consequence.”

“You are sounding a bit nasally there, Spock. Are you sure you are alright?”

The Vulcan stiffens. “I am adequate.”

Amanda does not know who the Vulcans think they are trying to fool with their careful word choice. They are quite transparent when you figure out their little code. “I hope you are looking after yourself.”

“Doctor McCoy has seen to my health.”

Amanda raises an eyebrow. “Doctor McCoy?” She does not remember Spock mentioning them in any of their previous communications. Often times when Amanda asks for an update on Spock’s life, the young half-Vulcan sends her pages and pages that recount his time on Earth, much like an official Starfleet report. There are small “personal” touches that she’s sure Spock doesn’t realize he’s put in, but more often than not, it’s very clinical, including a long list of all the staff he interacts with. Sometimes it feels like a guest list, except she knows he doesn’t go to parties. Has she forgotten? She does have a “flawed” memory due to her DNA. “Remind me, who he is again?”

“There is no need, as I have not previously made mention of him. Doctor Leonard McCoy is the friend of Jim.”

Jim? Now that’s new.

“Who’s Jim?”

“James Tiberius Kirk is a twenty-four year old male human cadet, enrolled on the accelerated Command course at Starfleet.”

“You call him Jim, despite his name being James?” _First names?_ Shortened _first names?_

“He prefers it.”

“I see. And what is your relationship with Jim?” She’s smiling, and it’s confusing her son from the way his brows furrow slightly.

“As I am not certain as of yet, the word ‘friend’ is being used as a placeholder.”

Spock has a friend.

He has been on Earth for half a decade, and yet he has never once mentioned having a friend. She’s so happy, she could sing. She’s scared to though, afraid she cannot remember how lullabies go. “Tell me about him.”

“He is approximately 1.84 meters in height. His eyes are blue with small amounts of grey inside the iris, and his hair is golden. He is underweight for someone of his stature, however as I have not had an opportunity to test this hypothesis beyond a visual assessment, further data cannot be extracted. He has light freckles around his nose, and is often hairless near and around the chin area,—”

“I did not ask what he looked like, though he does sound handsome,” Amanda says, and she wonders if Spock realizes he called Jim’s hair “golden”. “What’s he like?”

Spock blinks. “Jim is illogical.”

“Are not all humans?”

“It is illogical to make a generalization about such a large species.” She knows he agrees. “By like I am to assume you mean his personality. Jim is a dedicated student who works very hard. He suffers from sleep deprivation and often neglects his health in favour of his studies. With little regard towards his body’s needs, it is remarkable that he has lived to his current age.”

“He sounds nice. How did you meet him?”

“I grade my papers in the coffee shop he works at, located 6.72 minutes from the Starfleet campus.”

“He’s smart?”

“He is a genius.”

Amanda blinks. “That is high praise coming from you,” she notes. It’s high praise coming from _any_ Vulcan. “How are you so sure?”

“He is one of the top five students of the Academy.”

“In what subject?”

“In all of the subjects for which he is enrolled.”

“Oh?” If there’s anything that piques a Vulcan’s interest, it’s intelligence. She wonders if this Jim knows that he’s caught the attention of a Vulcan. It certainly is an honour, if not confusing at the beginning when, for all their straight-forwardness, they fail to be upfront about their affections.

“You are aware of the Earth game of chess, correct, Mother?”

“Yes,” she says. _How do you know about it?_

“He is a very skilled player of the game. Though his strategies are often illogical, they are effective.”

“Did he teach you how to play?”

“Affirmative.”

Amanda yawns, trying to stifle it, but Spock notices. Always the perceptive one, he is.

“You require rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine has many variables, thus making it an inefficient indicator. Fine is unacceptable.”

Amanda laughs tiredly. “Just a little tired. I like catching up with you. Tell me more about Jim, will you?”

“Perhaps another time,” Spock says. He clears his throat awkwardly. She’s quite sure that was a cough.

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I am adequate.”

Rolling her eyes, Amanda wonders distantly how Vulcans survived so long without someone fussing over them. “Be better than adequate. Get better, alright?”

Spock straightens, obviously about to protest the implication that he’s sick at all, but then his shoulders fall back. “Understood.”

Amanda ends the call, saddened a little, but happy that Spock has a friend.

Sarek comes in as she settles herself into bed.

“Is Spock adequate?”

“He got a little sick, not sure how though,” Amanda says with a shrug. “He’s made a friend.”

“A friend?” Sarek echoes, as though the word is foreign on his lips.

“Yes. James Tiberius Kirk of Earth,” says Amanda. “Seems he’s got your habit of mingling with humans.”

She wonders if James Tiberius Kirk knows the tune she longs for, but cannot remember.


	28. Peer Edit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim chuckles. “You sound like Spock.”
> 
> “ _Professor_ Spock,” she corrects him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed my con a lot, spent lots of money on really nice art, and am back to write more _Star Trek_ for you guys! Honestly, it's like this because I'm not a math genius or anything, but I know how to write a good paper. And also because I really want to write a Starfleet paper. I think it'd be fun. Maybe I'm just that big of a nerd.

The next time Jim talks to Nyota, she nearly kills him.

That is to say, she calls his name suddenly and he starts choking on his salad. Thumping at his chest with a closed fist to dislodge the offending lettuce, he feels her judgemental gaze as she quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Uh, are you lost?” Is he going to be dying in the next five minutes?

Nyota places her PADD on the table. “Listen, I wouldn’t normally do this, but I’ve run out of options.

Jim squeaks. He’s _definitely_ dying in the next five minutes. Maybe less.

“I need … I need your help,” she grits out, like each letter is a razor that’s cutting her throat. “The last assignment the professor gave us before they went into labour needs a peer editor. I just need you to sign this slip.”

The blond frowns. “You don’t want me to look it over?”

“Why would you?”

“Uh, that’s kinda the whole point of a peer editor. You get more marks if you show that you’ve taken the editor’s comments into account, right?”

“Don’t need it, I’ve edited it five times.”

“Just a suggestion.” He takes her PADD and scales down to find the peer editing sheet. How does she expect him to fill it out without reading her paper? He can’t believe he’s holding her PADD, on top of everything, this woman who looks like she wants to cut off his head. “Example, if you had a fresh pair of eyes look it over, you’d know it’s too long.”

“What?”

“It’s supposed to be five-eight pages, _max._ This is 10. If you followed the argumentative structure properly, which I’m sure you have, then your best argument is midway through page nine, closing off with your best point.” He scrolls to the correct page and clicks his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Yeah. Your weakest point is at the bottom of page eight, which is where a normal professor stops reading. You can guarantee Spock would stop there, he probably won’t care that you’re half-way through a sentence.” The cadet frowns. It’s been a week, Spock’s gotten over the cold, but he’s kind of upset that he’s got to go right back to grading. Bones forced him to take a few days off, and had to stop him from calling in during the lesson to teach through his PADD. That’s dedication. Jim would know.

He skims over the paper and frowns. It argues that the prime directive should be abolished, pointing out that the exception clauses can’t take into account situations that have never happened before, and with the sheer number of them put the existence of the directive into question, that societies and cultures are sometimes lost, or forgotten if not engaged with or preserved in some capacity, and cites Starfleet’s first contact with Vulcans as a prime example of the benefits of ignoring the rule. It’s a solid paper, if not a little long-winded.

His own paper, questioning the ethics of forcing alien races to assimilate to the Starfleet standard, which is predominantly human, seems subpar now. Maybe he should redo it?

“Mind if I print this out? Write a bit in the margins?” he asks. “It’ll make it easier to convince them you had a proper editor.”

Nyota clenches her fist. “If I send a copy to your PADD, will you fill out the sheet by 20:00?”

“Course.”

She’s not exactly giving him the stink eye, but he can feel a certain level of judgement that he’s not totally comfortable with.

It feels like an eon when Nyota takes back her PADD, and asks for his contact information.

  
Two weeks later, the familiar sound of Nyota’s voice saying “Kirk!” finds him in the hallway.

He’s in a hurry, but he waits until she reaches him.

And says nothing. For two whole minutes.

“Uh, did you want something from me? Not to be rude, but I’ve got a shift soon, and I gotta—”

“100.”

“What?”

“I got 100 on the paper you edited. So, you have my gratitude.”

Jim chuckles. “You sound like Spock.”

“ _Professor_ Spock,” she corrects him.

What Jim is starting to realize is Nyota is adorable. _Just another reason Spock should choose her._ Will _choose her._

His own paper didn’t do that badly considering that after he read Nyota’s paper, he went into a complete panic and rewrote each paragraph about three times, adding at least sixteen new sources to the bibliography which is a three page _monster_ , with sources dating from the 21st century to until a paper on the courting rituals of Andorians which had only been published 48 hours before Jim’s due date. He had run on coffee during the Eleventh Hour, and had a 92 to show for it, which wasn’t terrible, all in all.

Jim squints when he sees a note in Spock’s elegant script. _Citation needed._ How, he doesn’t know since the “Works Consulted” page is nearly twice the size of the bibliography, but he follows an arrow and turns into a tomato thanks to a typo made by his tired, caffeinated brain:

_It should be noted that not all species have been completely assimilated to Earth culture, as Spocks must be taught the rules of the Earth-game chess._


	29. Why Tiberius?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He fucked shit up,” says Bones with a grin. “Sounds like you, Jim, doesn’t it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly me bragging that I learnt something with my college education.

“Why Tiberius?”

“Huh?”

The Southern med student shrugs. “I just realized I never asked. Why’s your name Tiberius?”

Jim shrugs at Bones. He doesn't know, and as much as he likes his friend, he needs food and figuring out the origin of his middle name can wait for a time when he’s not trying to shovel all his nutrient into his body in one fell swoop. “Mom liked it. That’s reason enough. Think it’s got something to do with Greece.”

“Rome.”

Jim, very gracefully, teeters out of his chair and falls to the ground. Bones acknowledges his failure with a snort. The Vulcan who _teleported out of fucking nowhere_ raises an eyebrow in what Jim hopes is worry. He should be worried, it’s his fault Jim’s on the ground.

“The name Tiberius most likely came from Tiberius Gracchus, the Roman politician.”

“Oh wait, I think I heard of this guy!” says the doctor. “He’s the one who got his head cut off cause his neighbour was a snitch, right?”

Spock stiffens, as though Bones’ casual vocabulary has offended him. “Tiberius Gracchus was a plebeian tribune who wanted to enforce a law concerning the distribution of land. As the majority of land was owned by members of the Senate, veterans often returned from wars without shelter, and could not sustain themselves. Rather than present his idea to the senators, he went to the Citizen Assembly, which is not explicitly illegal, however nor is it the favoured course of action. The citizens unanimously agreed to implement the law, however his coworker vetoed the vote. Tiberius attempted to veto the opposing plebeian tribune’s veto—”

“But that’s not how veto works, right?”

Spock’s eyebrow raises in a challenging manner. “Perhaps you would rather tell the story, Doctor McCoy?”

“No, sorry.”

Spock takes a breath, and blinks for a long time. “As stated, the veto does not function in such a manner. Because his resolution would not be passed, Tiberius banned the use of temples, ceased the importation and exportation of necessities such as water and nutrients, and disbanded the government.”

“He shut down Rome?”

“That is an acceptable, if not informal way of explaining it, yes,” says Spock. “However it was evident that the populace would not be able to ration indefinitely, leading the Senate to agree to Tiberius’ terms, conditionally. The senators proposed that they would enforce stricter distribution laws on any new territory gained, however the existing land would remain divided as it was. Upon the capture of new territory, the Senate had Tiberius persecuted for treason against the state, allowing the senators to continue to monopolize the territory of Rome.”

“He fucked shit up,” says Bones with a grin. “Sounds like you, Jim, doesn’t it? Working for the people, doing crazy shit to make sure that they’re taken care of.”

“I wouldn’t shut down Starfleet if they refused to stop serving Mystery Meat. It’s a dramatic, isn’t it?”

“As if that isn’t totally your style, Jim.”

As if. If it was really Jim’s way, he’d be leading a _coup d’état_ against Nyota.

“Is there a reason why you’re here, Sp— Professor?” he catches himself.

“I wish to speak with you in my office.”

_Shit._

“Is there something wrong?”

Spock’s mouth draws into a thin line.

_Double shit._

“You are to see me at your nearest convenience. You know where my office is.”

_Is he mad about the latte? That was weeks ago!_

Jim _wishes_ he was as brave and valiant as his namesake as he watches the Vulcan turn and leave, without so much as a nod of acknowledgement.


	30. Regulation 2228.7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I had to cover up my tracks.”
> 
> “You neglected to acknowledge the camera.”
> 
> _Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is just a geeky chapter. Do you know where the number comes from? Also, I started binge-listening to Welcome to Night Vale. You probably knew about it, and you didn't tell me about this beautiful, inspiring creation.

Jim feels out of place in Spock’s office as he pulls at the sleeve of his uniform.

Thing is, he’s been to the offices of other Starfleet faculty during office hours, getting extra help, making sure he understands concepts, or double-checking his facts, away from the prying eyes of the other students. Though it’s the same standard room, every teacher lays it out differently and decorates it however they want, with a picture, sometimes a book collection which is mostly for show (no one but Jim reads books now a days).

Spock’s room is just so _tidy_ , it doesn’t look like any one’s ever been inside of it. Aside from a small pile of papers stacked neatly in the corner of his desk and a book he remembers vaguely from last time, _Galaxy Science Fiction_ , (okay, maybe he’s not the _only_ one, but almost) the room is barren of any personal touches.

“I must inquire as to how you got through the extensive firewalls of my system.”

_No beating around the bush, then._

“I uh, I have a thing with computers,” says Jim with a shrug. “The firewall was hard to get through, trust me! But I uh, I got in.”

“Evidently.”

“I’m really sorry about that,” says Jim quickly. “I don’t … I didn’t mean any disrespect! I just couldn’t get caught.” It feels really weird to say since he hasn’t done anything _wrong_ , exactly. If it was, it was the most friendly breaking and entering case in history. “I had to cover up my tracks.”

“You neglected to acknowledge the camera.”

_Shit._

“I, uh …”

“It is of no importance,” says Spock in a way that almost sounds like it’s no big deal that the blond managed to hack into a professor’s security system and reprogram it to recognize him as said professor in under thirty minutes. “According to your paper outline, you wish to argue the irrelevance of regulation 2228.7.”

Other than the initial inspiration to debate the validity of having a Starfleet order, there were no signs of plagiarism in his work, and he planned on including Nyota on his works consulted page, so he’s confused as to why Spock’s called him aside to speak about it.

“Was there something wrong with the format?”

“Negative. You are taking Command classes.”

It isn't a question.

“Yes.”

“Yet you do not see the benefit of a regulation which assures that there is a commander aboard a vessel at any given time?”

“Well, yes.”

Spock’s brows furrow. “Explain.”

Jim frowns. “Well, I just … I think it’s stupid that the first officer and captain take turns on away missions, especially since ‘away mission’ doesn’t exactly have a definition other than ‘not shore leave’. Everyone who’s in Starfleet is in it for the exploration, aren’t they? Otherwise, what’s the point of going into space? Forcing the captain and XO to make some sort of … rotating schedule to decide who gets off the next time they beam down to a planet seems stupid, even more stupid when you consider that first officers tend to lead the away missions, forcing the captain, the fucking _captain_ , to remain onboard.”

Spock quirks an eyebrow. “There is no need for abrasive language.”

“Sorry. I just … I think it’s counter-intuitive to the whole point of the XO and captain dynamic,” says Jim with a shrug.

“You do not understand the purpose of having first officers.”

“No, I know what they do. Sort of. They become acting captain in the event the actual captain is deemed unfit for duty, like out of commission because of health, until they recover. But the XO is supposed to be the captain’s right-hand man— uh, woman. Person. Right-hand person. They rank just below a captain,

"I mean, they technically have tons of different obligations, but they act as an advisor to the captain and make sure that the captain’s orders are followed. They’re also different from the captain, different creative input to solve any problems that may arise during away missions. I mean, yes, lieutenants can do that too, but the only one with the captain’s credentials other than themselves is the XO.

“I get it in theory. You can’t let the ship be a sitting duck with no one on board who knows how to command, but that’s why there are lieutenants, right? They’re as much a part of the command team as anyone else, and if it’s about knowledge, I’m sure that what one lieutenant doesn’t know, another might. Five or so lieutenants might be as good as one captain. The ship isn’t unprotected just because the captain and first officer are planet-side. It helps the create a good team dynamic between the lieutenants, and the top of the command chain. The lieutenants could take control, think on their own feet, and if anything _really_ went wrong, they could comm the captain.

“I mean, call me crazy, but I think an XO and captain ought to be friends, don’t you? Going on away missions could strengthen that bond. Did you know a horse can pull 8 000 pounds? Two horses can pull 24 000, but if those horses are friends? They can pull four times the amount they could on their own.” Jim shrugs. “I mean other than title, a first officer is basically a captain, so why not just be one?”

“Perhaps there are people who do not feel they would be adequate for captaincy.”

“Okay, sure, I see your point, but why not two captains?” Jim asks. “Share the pressure of it all? It’s basically what first officers and captains are, co-captains. Using the term ‘first officer’ is stupid, the captain comes first, _always_ , but XOs are just as important, if not more, than captains and I just don’t see how it’s fair.

“The rule just seems … arbitrary.”

Spock’s mouth draws into a thin line.

“Sorry!” says the cadet, rubbing his neck. “That was out of line. I just … I don’t … sorry. I can change the topic, if you want. Think of something else, you know …”

The pointy-eared man takes a stapled set of papers from his desk. “Negative.”

“Huh?”

“I initially believed your topic too precise to reach the minimum page requirement, however I see now that this belief was ill-founded.”

The blond cracks his knuckles nervously under the Vulcan’s gaze. Said-Vulcan’s eye twitches slightly.

“Sorry. I uh …” He puts his hands behind his back to stop himself from doing something stupid like touching everything in his line of sight. It’s a nervous tick of his that has Bones demanding what made him think the doctor’s dorm was a petting zoo. “Did anyone else hand in their outline?”

“Affirmative.”

There’s nothing much in the room. “Was it supposed to be electronic? I can send it to you, if you prefer it be digitized.”

“Unnecessary,” says the Vulcan, quirking an upturned eyebrow. “It is … ‘old school’, as you say.”

“Still, it creates clutter in your office, right?” Should he be digging his foot into the ground like he’s trying to tunnel his way into the ground to escape the situation? No, not really. But he’s still doing it. “I’m sure you like things organized. Stapled papers strewn about hardly help, huh?”

“It is of no consequence.”

Jim blinks. “If you’re sure.”

“Affirmative.”

“Ah … okay,” Jim says, rubbing his neck. “I’ll just er, I’ll get going.”

He salutes (now he’s saluting again?!) and leaves, trying not to move too quickly, or too slowly as he exits, busying his thoughts with the book on Spock’s desk that looks so familiar, though he can’t place from where.


	31. Not Unbearable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Kirk, you are the dumbest genius I have ever met.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in school now, so to avoid updating at 6:30 AM, I'm going to be changing the schedule from Wednesday and Sundays to Tuesdays and Saturdays.

“Kirk.”

Jim sits up straighter. “Yeah? I mean, yes?”

“I’m not going to kill you,” says the communications student, taking a seat across from him.

_That remains to be seen._

Nyota brushes her long hair to one side over her shoulder before she opens a small packet of utensils.

“W-what are you doing?”

Nyota raises her eyebrow at him, gesturing with her fork to her salad. “What does it look like?” she asks.

“You’re eating—”

“Astute observation, Watson.”

The blond’s eyebrows nearly rise into his hairline at the reference to the 19th century series. Seems he’s not the only one who’s read it. But he pushes that thought aside as he scrambles to figure out what’s happening. “No, I mean, I get that. Good for you. Yay, nutrition. But uh, why are you eating _here_.”

“It’s a cafeteria.”

She’s going to make this hard for him, because since when has Nyota Uhura ever made things easy?

“I meant _with me_.”

She swallows some of her lettuce before responding. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” She quirks an eyebrow at his loud tone. “I mean, uh, if you want to stay, stay.” It’d be kind of nice, he can't always catch a lunch with Bones and while her presence puts him on edge every time she so much as breathes in his direction, company is company and he doesn’t really have anything against her. “This isn’t the 1800s, you’ve got rights. I mean, you knew that already. I just er … don’t like, force yourself to be around me just cause I helped you with that paper.”

Nyota sits up straighter and takes her sweet time drinking her water while Jim worries himself into a mini-panic attack in the corner. She folds her napkin out onto her tray as if each movement is deliberate, designed to drive him crazy with suspense. “Kirk, you are the dumbest genius I have ever met.”

“W-what?”

Nyota rolls her eyes. “I chose to sit here. I can leave if it makes you as uncomfortable as you look right now—”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

She raises an eyebrow. _She’s been learning from Spock._

“I’m not! Just kind of … nervous. I mean, you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffs.

Nyota’s eyes narrow.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

The communications major rubs her temples slowly, taking a deep breath. “I never said I hated you. I said I didn’t like you. I’m not doing this to pay you back for my grade. I don’t do things like that.” _I don’t waste my time like that_ is unsaid, but heard. “You’re … interesting, Jim Kirk. I don’t find you as unbearable as I thought I would.”

“Um … thanks?”

“Don’t thank me. Got any more questions, or can I eat my salad in peace?”

“Right, sure. Okay. Go ahead. I’ll just, erm— shut up now.”

She actually winks at him as she takes her next bite.

Jim may have just stepped into a parallel universe where Nyota Uhura is nice to him, and what a strange world it is. He doesn’t mind it.


	32. The Lost Russian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The green professor said you could help me.”
> 
> “Green professor? What kind of classes are you ta— oh, you mean Spock?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the _Community_ AU starts .... NOW.

Jim is quite sure the boy in front of him is lost.

“C-can I help you?”

“You are Jim Kirk, yes?” His voice has a thick accent.

“Uh, yeah. H-how do you know me?”

“Am Pavel Chekov,” says the cadet, holding out a hand.

Jim shakes it gingerly. “What are you doing here, Pavel?”

“The green professor said you could help me.”

“Green professor? What kind of classes are you ta— oh, you mean Spock?”

“Yes.” The boy’s nod is stiff.

“Uh, I don’t … I’m not a teacher, which I mean, obviously you can see that, and I er …” He doesn’t understand what’s happening, or why it’s happening, but he feels a healthy amount of panic rising in his throat.

“Oh.”

_Shit no, he looks way too sad._

The shorter boy stands up. “Apologies.” He fucking _bows_ and—

“Wait!”

The Russian pauses. “Yes?”

“I … I’m probably shit at it, but I could … I could see what I can do?”

The boy’s face lights up.

The blond has dug himself a hole. He just knows it.

“Uh, was there anything in particular you wanted help with? I just need to find a gap in my schedule. Was it concepts, vocabulary or— your paper.” The cadet sees the paper in the younger’s hands, his entire body trembling as he holds the stapled pile together. He frowns. “Don’t you hand this in electronically?”

“Professor say you prefer paper.”

“Did he now?” Jim takes the paper and checks the clock on the wall. He has some time before his break is over, he could give it a quick once over. “I’ll see what I can do. Is it just this? Not that it’s a problem! Just if you need more help than this, then I could er, set up a time to do a proper study session or something at another time.”

_The fuck are you doing?_

He has no idea. He’ll wing it until he can’t anymore. It can’t end _that_ badly. It’s just a little peer editing.

“Last test,” Pavel says. “Professor says you can review with me?”

The barista nods, swallowing deeply as he looks down at the paper. Rubbing the pages between his fingers, he takes a deep breath and catches the expression on the boy’s face.

“I am bothering you?”

“No!” _Shake your head with any more force, it’ll fall right off._ “Not at all! Just uh, it’s a long essay.” Retrieving a pen from his uniform, he begins to tackle the paper.

Within a single read through, Jim’s eye is twitching.

“It is bad?”

“No, it’s not, really.” Jim is a shit liar.

Pavel frowns. “I tried really hard.”

“I know you did,” says the cadet. The spelling and grammar mistakes are normal considering it’s obvious that Standardized English is not Pavel’s first language, but there are problems with syntax that make him cringe and a glaring format problem. He sets his pen down and rubs his temples lightly.

“See this part here? You changed topics without any indication. Transitional words make the paper flow better, so stuff like that doesn’t happen. It’s always a good idea to finish each paragraph with a mini-conclusion, like one or two sentences to explain what the paragraph did, instead of just ending it abruptly like you did for paragraph three. And this, that’s a line, not a paragraph. One sentence cannot be considered a paragraph when you’re writing an academic paper.

“This isn’t Starfleet Standard Citation. You need to write down if the work’s been translated or not, and how many translations it’s had, which sector of the galaxy it came from, and whether the source is from a Federation planet.

“You have to acknowledge biases, evaluate your sources. I can tell just from this section the author of the article is leaning one way, and it’s also from a publisher more known for tabloids than hard-hitting facts, so you need to consider that and how much you trust it. It’s also important to recognize counter-arguments and explain why they don’t apply, or don’t matter, making the paper stronger than outright ignoring it just because it doesn’t say what you want it to.

“You misused the semicolon, though almost everyone does, but you really need to double-check your homophones. You can’t use personal pronouns, like ‘you’, ‘I’, or ‘we’, it’s too informal for academics, so are contractions. The paper needs to be a little bit longer, and you might want to make the thesis a bit clearer. You can use more precise language than that.

“Your margins are good, I liked the font.”

He doesn’t want Pavel to cry. He _really_ doesn’t.

“Thank you!”

_And the kid is bowing. Why the fuck is he bowing?_

Jim bites his lip. “I know it’s kind of nerve wracking, making you listen to me while I criticize your paper, but I mean, that way you know not to make the same mistakes in the future. If I’m being too harsh, just tell me. I can be less … brutal.”

Pavel shakes his head. “No, thank you very much! It means a lot that you do not try to spare my feelings. It has helped me a great deal. I am glad that you have not hold my syntax against me. I feel I am improving.”

Pavel is too pure.

Well, now that that’s over, Jim’s pretty sure he got an ulcer from working on that paper, and he’s got some choice words for Professor Spock.


	33. The Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am giving you another week to finish without penalty.”
> 
> “I don’t want it.”
> 
> “Five days.”
> 
> “Are you trying to barter an extension out of me?”

“Jim.”

 _Don’t you dare “Jim” me, you Vulcan fucker, I have something to say to you_ , and Jim’s about to let the words out of his mouth when—

“Your request for an extension has been granted.”

“What the fuck?”

He’s not quite sure what the “what” refers to. It’s either that Spock’s been telling his students to see the barista if they need help in his class, (Pavel Chekov is just the tip of the iceberg), or he’s got an extension he never asked for. Regardless, he wants to complain about the long line of students asking him for his help in Spock’s class because it’s starting to mess with his already shitty sleep schedule and he’s busy enough as it is.

“You have fallen asleep in class.”

_Who’s fault is that, huh? Who’s the one pushing_ **_his_ ** _students onto another one of his totally unqualified students?_

“And what? that means I’ve got an extension?” demands the blond instead. “Don’t baby me, and before you ask, like I _know_ you will, it’s an expression. I don’t need special treatment just because my head hit the desk for like, five minutes. I don’t snore, didn’t disrupt the class. You should see Finnegan, give _him_ an extension, he snores like one of those coal powered engines! It’s half-written, and I’ve got another week before it’s due.”

“Jim. Take the extension.”

Spock’s never struck him as the type to go easy on a student, and the month in his class is proving it. So what the fuck is this? Asking him to be made the exception with such a sullen face, you’d think someone died?

“I can’t just — Spock, I _can’t_.”

He can’t get lazy. He’s on the fast track to space, and while he knows that a little more time to write the paper isn’t going to matter, that he’ll still graduate early and get to see the stars, he feels like he’s _losing_ if he takes it.

“You are not physically incapable of accepting an extension to your paper. I am giving you another week to finish without penalty.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Five days.”

“Are you trying to barter an extension out of me?”

Spock’s brows furrow. “I do not understand. Many students often request an extension for their papers.”

“Have you ever granted one?”

“Negative, however their reasons behind their request were due to laziness. This is different.”

“I don’t see how,” says the blond, running his fingers through his hair. He needs to calm down and practically tearing out his hair isn’t going to help. Biting his lip, he thinks over his next words very carefully. “I just … I don’t want a shortcut, or whatever. There’s nothing wrong with me that I can’t do my work like any other student.”

“As a student on the accelerated track, your workload is 350% more demanding than an average Academy student, and 150% more demanding than any of your comrades in your Command courses. You endure large amounts of stress as a result of this.”

There are so many things he can say. He can point out that he sees what Spock’s saying. No one who knows how demanding the Academy is can look at Jim and think he doesn’t work hard, but what the Vulcan doesn’t understand is that it doesn’t matter what others think, it’s about Jim, and the fact that _Jim_ would know he needed that extra boost. While it wouldn’t change his graduation date, wouldn’t slow his race to the stars, he’d still know and it feels like _losing_ somehow. He can argue that he doesn’t want things handed to him, that he wants to earn it, like he earns everything else. To cheat now would seem stupid, considering he’s so close to the finish line. Even though he knows it’s not _really_ cheating, it feels like it is and he won’t have anyone saying James Tiberius Kirk can’t do things the same way everyone else can.

He says none of these things and settles for the underwhelming “It’s almost done.”

“48 hours.”

He sighs. “You’re going to make me take the extension no matter what, aren’t you?”

“Affirmative.”

The skin of Jim’s lip breaks slightly and blood trickles into his mouth. He ignores it. It doesn’t matter if Spock forces an extension on him, he’ll just make doubly sure he hands it in on time.

“Fine.”

He feels stupid for working himself up so much over something as stupid as an extension, especially since it wasn’t even the reason he came in the first place. “I just have a question. Have you … this is going to sound so weird, but are you telling your students to come see me?”

“Affirmative.”

“Whoa, wait, no, not affirmative!” The cadet is aware his arms are flailing stupidly, but this is out of _nowhere._ He had figured as much, but for Spock to just admit it outright, like he didn’t understand why this was a problem for Jim astounds him. “What do you mean _affirmative_? I have a giant lineup in front of my classes now of lost people, asking to look at their papers for your class!”

Spock blinks. “I had thought you would enjoy the company.”

“The company?” Jim echoes. “What the fuck? I’m not a teacher, that’s _your_ job! I don’t know the first thing about teaching!”

Spock frowns. “I apologize for the disturbance. I shall tell them to seek aid elsewhere.”

“Wait, no that’s not right! You can’t just …” Jim runs his fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands. Licking his lips and he sighs and tastes the blood. “Okay. Fine. I’ll help them. But don’t think I’m enjoying it!”

“I was not implying you would.”

He can’t believe Spock thinks he misses the way he smirks.


	34. Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bones raises an eyebrow. “Keptin?” 
> 
> “He means Captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is a bitch, meaning I'm behind on my writing schedule. We're covered for the next month, I'm hoping that I'll get sorted enough that you don't have to wait until I have time to write a new chapter for each new update, but also, _Night Vale_ 's inspired me for like, 16 Cecilos stories? So that's happening in my brain.

The thing about Jim is he doesn’t have many friends.

He’s fine with that, really. He doesn’t have time for friends, with schoolwork and actual work, and tests and papers and formulas to remember and his insomnia and the hours and hours that he’s constantly on the move, he doesn’t need friends. At all.

He gets lonely sometimes, sure, but everyone gets lonely. He’s had a few failed relationships that never really felt like relationships, especially since they always ended shortly after they started.

His social life takes a backseat to academia. So does his health. He can be healthy once he’s in space. Until then, it can wait. Everything can wait until he sees a star up close for the first time.

It’s one less thing for him to worry about.

He has Bones, mainly because he’s forced himself to be Jim’s friend. The man should be hanging out with people his own age, should go to Alcohol Anonymous meetings, not double-check that Jim hasn’t eaten something with an ingredient that might trigger his allergies.

He doesn’t need friends. He doesn’t need _people_.

Jim isn’t a loner. Not in the sense most people think of loners. People who purposefully avoid others, who sit in the corner of rooms and avoid eye contact. He doesn’t do that. He just prefers to do things alone. It’s the way he is. He’s more efficient that way.

It starts like this: Jim agrees to help Pavel Chekov because of his Kicked Puppy Face (™).

He hasn’t even realized what’s happened until Bones points it out.

“Got yourself a nice little study group, huh?”

Jim blinks. “What?”

The doctor rolls his eyes. “Those guys.”

The blond looks over his shoulder where his friend is nodding. Pavel Chekov, Hikaru Sulu, Montgomery Scott, Nyota Uhura, and Gary Mitchell are all seated in one of the larger booths, their textbooks out, passing around notes like it’s some sort of potluck of knowledge.

“I’d hardly call it a study group. I’m just … helping them. A bit.”

In the past month since he’s told Spock he won’t accept his extension, he’s handed in the paper on time, and acquired a group of people who sit down with him in a fairly regular manner twice a week to discuss classes that go beyond Interspecies Protocol.

Wait, now that he’s thinking about it, it really is a study group, isn’t it?

“Keptin!”

Bones raises an eyebrow. “Keptin?”

“He means Captain.”

It was weird the first time he heard it too, leading to the joyous day coffee nearly betrayed him as the hot beverage went down the wrong pipe. It’s become a nickname of sorts. He is the captain of their metaphorical ship, sailing their grades through turbulent waters. Though it started off ironically, he’s come to like it.

He’s in Starfleet for command. Why not aim for Captain? Captain James T. Kirk. It has a nice ring to it.

“Just, give me a minute.” After a quick review of Pavel’s quantum chemistry problem, he points out the error and tells the Russian to give it another shot before returning back to Bones. “Anyway, what were you saying?”

“Oh yes, it’s totally _not_ a study group.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

The cadet rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I don’t need your salt.”

“You’re getting it anyway. Think you can tutor me, Jim? Need some help in my xenobiology class.”

“Fuck off.”

Bones ruffles his hair and chuckles. “You’re growing up into such a fine young man! I think I might cry!”

“Don’t get sappy on me, Bones.”

The doctor holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, but in all seriousness, I _am_ proud of you.”

“I …” He licks his suddenly dry lips and something swells in his stomach.

It doesn’t make sense. Of all things the two cadets have said to each other, this shouldn’t be the most surprising, but somehow it is.

Because he tries _so hard,_ and most of the time it goes unnoticed. Sure, good grades are awesome, but he’s never received praise for anything more than that, so of course he thinks they’re the centre of his universe until he’s out of the Academy. Of course he equates his self-worth to his grades. That’s just … what he does. He doesn’t realize until this moment how much verbal approval, from _Bones_ of all people, is what he wanted the most.

“Keptin!”

“You’re needed, Captain,” says the doctor with a smirk. “Stand up straighter, can’t have their mentor slouching, can we?” He pats him on the shoulder and gently pushes him forward.

“You alright, Keptin?” asks Pavel as he takes a seat in the booth to see if Pavel’s done the problem right this time. Everyone moves over so he can have more space. He never noticed before.

“Fine,” says Jim distractedly. He looks over at Bones, who hums his approval. He examines the formula, frowning. “It’s a rounding error, see, here?”

It starts like this: Jim agrees to help Pavel Chekov because of his Kicked Puppy Face (™).

It goes like this: Jim has acquired a study group and a sudden desire to hold the official title of Starfleet Captain.


	35. Thyla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’m just putting my foot in my mouth.”
> 
> “Negative. The terminal portion of your leg does not appear to be near the vicinity of your oral cavity."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE HAVE GOTTEN TO ONE OF MY FAVOURITE STAR TREK TROPES! THE WE ARE SOULMATES NO MATTER WHAT UNIVERSE AND EXISTENCE WE HAVE, WE SHALL ALWAYS FND EACH OTHER, PLATONIC OR NOT. Also, it's really weird to live in a world where Harry ain't doing anything anymore .... (I don't accept The Cursed Child timeline).

Jim’s health has steadily improved, which Spock finds more than satisfactory. He is about to enter the coffee shop when he sees that the cadet is surrounded by people. He is laughing with them. He recognizes them all from his class, and finds himself happy— illogical an emotion as it is— that the blond has found friends.

There is a part of him that is saddened that Jim is no longer alone to spend his time with Spock, but he easily ignores it. It is part of being Vulcan.

He is about to leave, unnoticed, when there is a barrel of blond coming his way and then Jim Kirk is in front of him, grinning.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you around lately.”

“Nor have I,” says Spock, unsure of how he is supposed to respond.

“Do you … do you want to come in?”

Spock looks over Jim’s shoulder at the crowd of eyes staring at them. “I believe your comrades would not enjoy my company.”

“Fuck them. I mean, not literally fuck them, I uh, I think they’d be a bit too much to handle. Besides, you’re probably asexual, so it’d be kinda like gangbanging a fish … I’m going to shut up now. The point is, I’d like your company.”

“Asexual?” Spock repeats.

“Uh, yeah. It’s a thing. There are still some bigots who don’t think it is, but uh, it is. You know, people who don’t feel sexual attraction and all that. I mean … unless that’s supposed to be a secret? Shit, I didn’t mean to out you or anything or … er, I’m just putting my foot in my mouth.”

“Negative. The terminal portion of your leg does not appear to be near the vicinity of your oral cavity. You are also mistaken. I am not incapable of sexual urges.”

“Oh. Great! I mean, not great, great, like I was hoping you were a sexual being, but great for you! I mean, I wouldn’t know, I haven’t … you know, done _that_ yet. But uh, I’m sure it’s great. And you get to do it, which is awesome. I mean, not that your life is lacking if you don’t do that sort of thing, there’s nothing wrong if you don’t do that stuff, nothing at all. I just meant that’s wonderful for you. To uh, get orgasms and stuff and … ” Jim scratches his neck as the tips of his ears appear to overheat. “I just … will you just come inside before I say something more embarrassing?”

“Affirmative.”

The coffee shop is rather occupied when compared to the previous times he has gone. He is directed towards the crowded booth, though the blond makes sure to keep his distance.

Spock wishes he would not.

“Professor!” says Cadet Uhura, grinning widely.

“Cadet Uhura.”

The grin diminishes slightly at that.

While Spock understands that Jim wants to include him in things that he enjoys, as friends often do, he finds himself at a distance, watching rather than participating. He does not know any of these people on a personal level, the only relationship he has truly forged on Earth is with Jim. He feels uncomfortable, but he stays, and watches how Jim acts around those who do not make him uncomfortable.

He laughs at a joke Cadet Mitchell makes and said-Cadet wraps an arm around Jim’s back, almost possessively.

It comes to him then.

The word for their relationship.

_Thyla._

It is a beautiful thing, a very rare thing, something he believed previously he could never have as a half-Vulcan, not quite Vulcan enough to achieve it, but human enough to desire it.

It is as Jim leans on Cadet Mitchell for support as he wipes tears from his eyes (tears, Spock has learnt, can also be a sign of happiness) that the metaphorical rug is pulled from underneath his body.

He believed he was not Vulcan enough to have such a thing, but seeing the way Jim casually touches Cadet Mitchell and laughs easily, it occurs to him that he was wrong.

It is not that he is too human to have a _thyla_.

It is that he is not human _enough_ to have _him._


	36. Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “B-but …” Jim shakes his head. “Why would we be friends?”
> 
> “Uh, we talk outside of class? You’ve bought me coffee on numerous occasions. We meet twice a week with everyone else to go over notes? What did you think this was?”
> 
> “A study group?”

James Tiberius Kirk does not know what the words “take a break” mean.

He’s going to crash again, everyone knows it, and this time when he does he’s surrounded by his study group.

One minute he hears Pavel’s excited voice telling him about his latest grade on a paper he helped him with and Gary’s terrible attempts at flirting with Nyota as he collects an overwhelming amount of coffee from Bones, then he’s heading to the table and trips. Hikaru catches him and with an apology half-way out of his mouth, the world spins and he blacks out.

He wakes up to the smell of soup in his own apartment.

Trying to get out of bed, he promptly gets tangled in the sheets and nearly falls onto the floor.

“Is he awake?”

Pavel’s head pops in through the doorway. “Aye!”

“W-what are you doing here?”

“You passed out,” says the Russian. “C’mon, I take you to kitchen.”

Jim feels bad for the boy as he tries to lug him out of the room, wrapping his arms around the blond’s chest. The older cadet’s feet drag against the cold wooden floor, the chill sending a shock up his spine. He’d walk himself, but he doesn’t trust his own balance.

The kitchen’s cleaner than he remembers.

“Jimmy!” Gary greets, patting him on the back. The barista frowns. He hates being called Jimmy, makes him feel like he’s seven, but before he can tell Gary that, he’s being cut off. “Listen, how about you just take a seat? Scotty’s making some homemade recipe.”

“You should’ve mentioned you weren’t getting enough sleep,” Nyota says, rolling her eyes. “Can’t have the Captain passing out on us, can we?”

Jim stares at her. Her voice is almost _teasing_. Since when has this happened?

“I … I’m missing class—”

“You’ve been excused,” says Bones, appearing from Jim’s living room. “These guys are heading off to their classes soon, they’ll share their notes with you for the ones they share. Spock will get the rest of them for you.”

Jim frowns. “I don’t …”

“I know, you’re weird about notes. You’ll get a copy of each set of notes. If one of them misses something, another one’s sure to pick it up. You can even compare them, to make sure it checks out across all boards.”

“C’mon Jim,” says Hikaru, his voice surprising the cadet. How many people are in the small hole of his apartment? “Let us help you. It’s what friends do.”

“We’re friends?”

Hikaru wrinkles his nose. “Now I’m rethinking my statement—”

“Wait, you … you want us to be friends?”

“I thought we _were_ friends. Unless I’m wrong?”

“B-but …” Jim shakes his head. “Why would we be friends?”

“Uh, we talk outside of class? You’ve bought me coffee on numerous occasions. We meet twice a week with everyone else to go over notes? What did you think this was?”

“A study group?”

“Yeah, a study group of _friends_.”

Jim blanks.

It dawns on Hikaru in that instant that he really has no idea. “You can’t be serious. Do you not … people like you, Jim. People want to be your friend and do things with you, you know?”

The blond bites his lip. The world is still spinning a bit, and he can’t formulate words properly, but he’s getting the sense maybe he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. He can pretend that he knows what’s happening just as well as the rest of them.

Bones tells him that he can’t scare him again like that, he’ll be monitoring his sleep patterns carefully from now on and if he thinks he can get away with shit like that again, he’s wrong.

It’s weird to be motherhenned. He’s sort of used to it coming from Bones, but when Nyota tells him that she tried her best with her notes but she knows he has a specific system and she didn’t follow it quite exactly because she didn’t have the right colour pens to colour code the margins and vocabulary words, Jim, to his horror, feels a lump in his throat.

He will _not_ cry over something this fucking stupid, so he takes the notes, his grip a little too tight, and gives her a smile. She tells him to rest up, and leaves with everyone else.

Gary stays behind and grins. “Wanna play a game?”

The cadet nods, and lets himself be led to the kitchen where Gary sets up an old Scrabble board. There are letters that are missing and it’s not fair to pull his xeno-lingustic vocabulary on a game that isn’t designed for those types of characters, but it’s still fun.

He’s beating Gary, by a lot.

“Damn, Jimbo, you’d think with a face like that, there’d be nothing in your head.”

Unsure of whether to take it as a compliment, or a joke, he counts the score and finds he’s won by a few hundred points.

“You gave us a big scare you know,” says the dark haired barista. He grabs Jim’s wrist. He hadn’t realized he was trembling until it stopped. “Don’t do that again, okay? I barely got over it the first time.”

“I’m fine.”

“Right.”

He doesn’t believe him. Neither does Jim.


	37. A Good Weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock’ll take one look, say “wrong”, and leave with no other comment, so Jim double checks his work and then five people are working on the same problem and no one can figure out where the fuck they went wrong, to the point where they drag Bones into it and asks him if he sees a mistake in Jim’s long division and when the doctor can’t figure it out, he throws Jim’s papers across the table only to discover he forgot his units.

The thing about Jim is he has friends.

_What. The. Fuck?!_

He’s never had anyone to impress before, never had anything to lose. He certainly can’t impress Bones, what with vomit being involved within the first fifteen minutes of knowing each other. He’s never tried to be anything more than he is in front of the Southern doctor because he sees through his bullshit all the time. Now there are _people_. People who have decided he’s worth their time, and if that isn’t pressure, he doesn’t know what is. There’s an unofficial agreement that he’s important, worth taking some time out of their day to spend with him, and he doesn’t ever want to prove them wrong.

Having a group of friends is _weird_.

Sometimes he’ll be in the middle of a study session and he’ll just stop, and _stare_ at everyone, amazed that they’re here. With him. That they’ve taken time out of their busy schedule to spend that time with _him_ , that they prefer his presence to solitude. It blows his mind.

The group is so different, they’re always clashing in different ways, but they all challenge him in a different way. Nyota helps him with his xeno-vocabulary, and laughs when he messes up the conjugations ( _they have how many tenses in Andorian?_ ), Scotty brings out the scientist in him, making him appreciate not only space, but the vessel that gets you out there. Pavel and Hikaru’s adoration for maps remind him of the constellations he’s drawn over and over again, and Gary’s always a bag of never-ending tricks and weird turns.

The six of them hunch over papers together as they try to figure out where they went wrong in problem x or y, and scribble nonsense in the margins because _it’s okay to take a break, Jesus, Jim_ , and laugh about the latest weird thing Professor Pike said.

It doesn’t take long for him to realize that being social isn’t something you do, it’s a way of living and Jim’s still getting used to it.

Every Wednesday and Friday, he juggles a tray full of orders (everyone takes their coffee differently), and though he insists he’ll cover it, they consistently give him money, which is okay because he then hands it to Bones who tells him its on the house since he’s so proud of him for having friends his own age.

They spread out the week’s work, and clarify things that don’t make sense — the benefit of having a group made of different majors is that if one of them doesn’t know, someone else most certainly does— and share notes for common classes, if someone’s missed one.

It’s a little confusing, reviewing topics that he isn’t studying with Hikaru, but his alien— _extraterrestrial—_ vocabulary is expanding with Nyota’s flashcards and he picks up a thing or two about engineering from Scotty.

Gary shoves him playfully and Hikaru competes with him for the most sugar packets stacked by one person. Pavel says his name a bit funny, and he’s come to like the way it sounds. Sometimes, he can convince one of them to play chess with him. He tried to explain 3D chess, but that didn’t go over too well.

It’s not different, in a sense, from what they’ve been doing for the past while, but it feels different, knowing that these people around this round table of dorks are with him because they want to be. Because they’ve seen past his appearance and his brains and have decided that Jim, plain ol’ Iowa Jim is worth their time.

He tries to keep a semblance of balance, and focuses on not doing their work for them. He looks over their problems, and tells them when they’re wrong, maybe they should double check their rounding, but he doesn’t _do_ stuff for them, which is also weird, because Jim’s used to doing things for others. This feels like he’s actually _helping_ , which is new. He’s being _useful_ , and it’s exhausting, but he can’t say he dislikes it.

Every now and then, Spock comes in. He’s always hesitant to approach the group, but when he does, he’ll take one look at someone’s work and say “wrong”, before he turns and leaves with no other comment, so Jim double checks his work and then five people are working on the same problem and no one can figure out where the fuck they went wrong, to the point where they drag Bones into it and asks him if he sees a mistake in Jim’s long division and when the doctor can’t figure it out, he throws Jim’s papers across the table only to discover he forgot his units.

He can get used to this.

One day, he gets a text from Spock.

_Jim,_

_I have noticed you have been getting more of your work done and there has been an improve in the overall average of my class. In “celebration”, would you join me in a game of chess after you convene with your study group?_

_Spock_

The way he puts “celebration” into quotation marks makes Jim laugh.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” the blond hums as he thinks about his reply.

“You’re doing the serial killer smile thing.”

His blood runs cold in an instant. “S-sorry.”

“No problem,” Gary replies. “It’s part of a friend’s duty to make sure you don’t look like an idiot. Given the way you seem to have gotten dressed in the dark, it seems I’m failing though.” He claps him on the back as if to accentuate his point, forcing Jim to teeter forward.

“Right, I uh …”

He types a quick “sure” to Spock, and licks his suddenly dry lips. “Uh, Hikaru, you wanted us to quiz you for that forensic psych test, right?”

If you wouldn’t mind,” the Japanese man says and Jim splits the table into teams pitted against each other, taking turns firing off questions and answering.

Gary’s comment lingers in the back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't even IMAGINE how many marks I've lost just cause I forgot my units. It was the difference between a 100% and 98%.


	38. The Duct Tape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard raises an eyebrow.
> 
> “Don’t do that, you’re starting to act like Spock.”
> 
> “Don’t insult me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... sorry again.

“Stop freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

Leonard raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t do that, you’re starting to act like Spock.”

“Don’t insult me.”The doctor rolls his eyes as his best friend turns around for perhaps the seventeenth time in the past minute. “Tell me you’re getting dizzy.”

The cadet frowns, staring at his stomach. Leonard doesn’t know what he’s doing it for, but he seems pretty upset about it.

“Maybe I should try a different shirt?”

“You’ve tried like, fifty shirts."

Honestly, this kid is starting to go from endearing to just a tad pathetic. He knows the Vulcan will like him however he dresses, and most likely won’t notice if Jim does anything to his hair.

“I just think I might have looked better in red?”

As a man who is finishing his doctorate, he knows his eyes won’t get stuck from rolling them as often as he does, but he’s quite sure that he’ll defy logic and have them stuck inside his brain. “You’re going to play chess, and you want to dress up like you’re going to class?” He takes his friend by the wrist in a firm, but gentle grip. “C’mon, we’ll just check in the mirror so you can stop doing these weird acrobatics—”

“NO!”

Leonard lets go, taking a step back.

The skin at Jim’s lip tears. “I mean I’m good. I’ll just wear this one. I gotta get going soon anyway.”

He frowns.

Something’s wrong. He knows if he asks, it’s unlikely the blond will tell him. That boy would tell you he’s fine with a gun pointed to his head. It’s one of the reasons he worries him so much.

The Southern med student knows Jim’s a handful. He’s taken that on since meeting him a few years ago, and he hasn’t once regretted it, despite how much work it takes to keep that boy alive. He doesn’t have many friends, and honestly he doesn’t feel like he needs them with the blond by his side. Since the bags underneath the cadet's eyes have eased up a bit, and he seems to be gaining more weight, he assumed the study group was keeping tabs on his health, but maybe not. There’s also been an increase of scars along his chin.

“You going to stay here?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Lock the door on your way out. You still have the key?”

As if Leonard doesn’t have several copies of the key. The poor bastard keeps losing his every two months.

“Go, your hobgoblin date is waiting.”

“It’s not a—“

“Jim.”

The protest traps itself in the barista’s mouth, and he nods before grabbing his jacket and leaving.

Leonard stands in the empty apartment in silence.

He understands that Jim is a young adult. He worries about stupid things that he, as a grown man nearing thirty, has stopped fussing over. He’s learnt to ignore the fears that whisper to you in the dark about totally nonsensical things which often amount to nothing but stress as you allow yourself to dwell on them. Jim’s the type of person to keep it all inside, refusing to tell anyone if something’s troubling him. He can’t blame the study group if they weren’t able to worm his troubles out from him. The only thing that can do that is a good old bottle of bourbon, but the Command student has sworn off getting drunk until he graduates. Every now and then Leonard convinces him to indulge in a glass or two, but it’s rare and it’d seem suspicious to ask him for a drink now.

The doctor wants to respect his friend’s privacy. The cadet adds something to his life that he forgot about since the divorce, keeps him young in a way that he never realized he needed until he had it. He loves the kid, and he knows he’s loved in returned. There’s no reason to violate the boy’s privacy, because, as Leonard’s said on more than one occasion, he isn’t his father. He trusts him to look after himself, more or less, and he doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries. He doesn’t want Jim to see him as a parental figure, more like a brother who he can come to if he needs help. A role model who can offer him advice when he gets stupid. Though, sometimes it feels as though the blond is more his child than Jo, and if that isn’t a thought to turn his stomach, he doesn’t know what is.

Leonard’s okay with not knowing. He’ll tell him eventually, in his own time. He always does.

_But just in case…_

The doctor glances behind him, making sure the cadet won’t be coming back any time soon, before he begins to scan the apartment.

The kitchen’s a bit messy, though not terribly so. There’s less takeout than there was last time, which is an improvement if he’s ever seen one. The bed is well made, though the pile of tried on clothes remains in the corner. Leonard puts them away, using Jim’s colour coding system, and makes his way to the bathroom.

Any guilt he may have felt for his intrusion disappears the instant he sees the mirror.

An almost used up roll of duct tape is laying in the corner of the room, as though haphazardly thrown, and the mirror itself is taped up entirely, without a single centimetre of reflective glass to be seen.

The increase of scars along Jim’s chin make sense now.

_“Do I look like a serial killer?”_

He should’ve known.

Leonard runs his fingers along the tape. He can barely feel it underneath the pads of his fingertips, focusing instead on the way his stomach is falling through.

He never sees the signs, does he?

Not with his wife, and now not with Jim.

What kind of a doctor is he if he can’t even notice when his best friend is hurting?

_Oh Jim …_


	39. Set Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His brain knows that thinking of this friendly chess game as anything more than just that is absolutely preposterous, but it’s like he’s eight all over again and the cute girl in class just asked to burrow his pencil. He remembers that day, when he stabbed himself in the palm with graphite whilst panicking.
> 
> Seems he’s learnt nothing after all these years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again? These next few chapters are very sorry.

_It’s not a date._

His brain knows that thinking of this friendly chess game as anything more than just that is absolutely preposterous, but it’s like he’s eight all over again and the cute girl in class just asked to burrow his pencil. He remembers that day, when he stabbed himself in the palm with graphite whilst panicking.

Seems he’s learnt nothing after all these years.

He knocks on Spock’s door, a giddy energy thrumming through his veins.

The Vulcan opens the door, and Jim chokes on his own spit.

Dressed in a dark blue robe with two diagonal golden stripes woven high onto the cuff, Jim’s voice gets caught in his throat at the sight of the Vulcan in clothes other than the Starfleet standard. He supposes he knew, in a sense, that Spock would not spend forever dressed in Starfleet clothing, that he must have his own wardrobe but he’s never thought about it, till confronted with it now.

Spock guides him inside. Jim focuses on trying not to gawk at everything he sees. Similar to the tidy state of his office, the Vulcan’s apartment so spotless, it’s as if no one’s ever inhabited it. The chess board is placed on the kitchen table, set up carefully.

“It is your turn to be white,” says Spock, taking a seat on the black side of the set.

Jim knows better than to question a Vulcan’s memory.

They play with little discussion, which is good because Jim doesn’t even know what he would say if he had to talk. Normally, silence like this suffocates Jim. It makes him talkative, just to avoid the quiet, but with Spock it’s an amicable silence, one that he feels content with.

It’s a close game, but Spock wins.

They’ve played a few times, and Spock has won nearly all games. It never deters him. Rather, it lights a fire in him and he brings his A game every time, though he is admittedly tired this time around.

“You require a full Rapid Eye Movement cycle.”

Seems he’s noticed.

Jim blinks. “Hmm?”

Spock gestures to the board. “Had you moved your knight here,” he points to a square that Jim had completely forgotten was fair game, “you would have won within two moves.”

Jim chuckles. It sounds tired. “I’m human, we make mistakes.”

“Such a mistake is unusual for you,” Spock notes.

The blond gulps, barely able to suck in enough breath. Does this mean Spock notices him? Watches him do things? “You know us, illogical humans and all that.” He stretches. “We’re a flawed specimen, but we get by as we do. It was a good game.”

Spock’s brow furrows. “I believe we should continue this match at a later date, when you are capable of playing at your fullest capacity.”

“C’mon, I’m not that out of it.” His eyelids _do_ feel heavy. This whole social life thing is tiring and while his sleep has been improving, it’s been getting spastic with the amount of papers he has due in the next while. “I’ll be fine. New game?”

“Negative. You will return to your apartment and sleep for the next 9.4 hours.”

“Is that an order, Spock?”

Spock opens his mouth, then closes it. It’s the most human-like expression he’s ever worn. “Negative. I have overstepped my boundaries. My apologies.”

“You haven’t overstepped anything,” Jim assures him. “I’m fine.”

“Fine has many variables, thus making it an inefficient indicator. Fine is unacceptable.”

They commence a stare-down competition and in the end, Jim has to blink. It’s not fair though, he knows Spock’s got an extra eyelid that he’s probably using.

“I will escort you to your apartment.”

The blond’s too tired to argue.

It’s weird to stand so close to the Vulcan as they cross the quad, ignoring the whispers of those they pass.

“Well, I had a fun time,” says the cadet once they reach his apartment door. “Play again sometime?”

“Sleep, Jim.”

The barista nods, ignoring the disappointment in his stomach that he’s sure the professor would call illogical.

Taking a deep breath to calm him racing heart, he open his apartment door.

There’s a pill bottle on his living room table that he _knows_ he didn’t put there. Attached is a note from Bones.

_Kid,_

_Take these. You need sleep._

Rolling his eyes, he scoffs.

_Wait._

Bones was in his apartment. Alone.

He rushes to the bathroom, his socks sliding across the floor as he crashes with the tiles and has his fears confirmed.

The tape’s been removed.

He can’t take his eyes away once he’s seen his reflection for what must be the first time in at least a month.

He can see why others think he’s unwell.

There’s a tiredness in his eyes that weighs down his entire body. His lip is bruised, the skin always half-way towards torn from all the biting, and there’s the slightest trace of blood from the cracked derma. There are crescents in his palm from clenching his fists too tightly. His hair spikes weirdly at random angles. His fingers are peeling from biting the skin around the nail which looks worn, and healing wrong. There are cuts where the razor struck while shaving.

The shirt is too tight on him, hugs his body the wrong way. He feels like he’s too heavy. He has a pouch of fat since he’s stopped his 5 AM runs. He should start those again. He should start eating regularly, he knows he sometimes gorges himself, while at other times he doesn’t eat for days. He doubts it’s doing anything good to his system.

He can see the flaws, out in the open, and is reminded why he covered up the mirror.

_SMASH!_

Jim’s knuckles are bleeding. His hands are disgusting. They’re unsightly. He wraps them up in duct tape, good ol’ duct tape, always saving the day. The mirror shards have his blood on them. It’s cracked, but it’s not all broken. Jim isn’t even strong enough to break it.

He falls to his knees, in the glass. His knees get scratched up. He’s bleeding. A lot. He ignores it.

He’s tired.

So tired.

He falls asleep on the floor.


	40. Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s eating at you?”
> 
>  
> 
> _My sleep. My course load. My nightmares. My reflection. My weight, my face, myself. Spock, my stupid expectations for something more with Spock that comes out of nowhere. My life._
> 
>  
> 
> “We really need to change the lightbulb.”

Jim wakes up surrounded by glass.

It takes him a few minutes to get his bearings, wonder why his body is aching, why his skin stings. He sits up and feels the cold of the tile against him in the darkness.

It had been going so well, playing chess with Spock, and now here he is, a disaster.

He has time to get ready for school, he knows because his internal clock always wakes him up about an hour and a half before class starts. His knees and hands are all scrapped up and the cracked mirror seems to peer into his soul. He takes a moment to breathe, watches the way his reflection fragments itself. He knows the mirror doesn’t work like those of fun houses you find at fairs, but he still finds that it’s the way he looks. Disjointed, disfigured, disproportionate.

Disgusting.

He brushes the glass to the side using a broom from the kitchen and peels away the duct tape which is _not_ a good band-aid, and hurts like a bitch to remove.

He drags his energy-dry body into class as usual. Even though he’s gotten a few hours of sleep, he’s somehow more tired than when he collapsed, but he manages a smile when his friends ask him how he’s been, if he feels ready for his calculus test. He says he’s been fine, calculus is a bitch, but he’ll pass.

The world keeps turning, and maybe Jim isn’t “fine”, maybe it _does_ have too many meanings to mean _anything_ , but no one seems to notice.

Jim avoids mirrors and reflective surfaces in general. He’s sure that he’s doing a good job at pretending to be fine, because no one questions him about it. Gary teases him like always, Hikaru says his forensic psych test went well, and Pavel is as adorable as ever, telling Jim about how the Russians created the pyramids, which is so wrong, but Jim doesn’t have the heart to correct him.

This isn’t okay, but he can’t do much else so he goes through the motions, not really feeling anything, working on auto-pilot. He sits through classes and takes notes, asks enough questions to get high on participation marks, and flexes his knuckles and fingers a bit more than usual, but no one questions it.

He’s glad it’s Thursday, so he doesn’t have to pretend he's okay all day long.

When he goes to work, Bones notices his hands.

“The fuck did you do?”

Jim shrugs, and tries to handle the coffee machine. He’s gotten all the glass out already, his hands just look worn, and they’re still just a bit red from removing the tape.

Like a robot, he tells Bones what he’s been telling everyone.

“Like hell you’re fine,” snaps the Southern doctor. “Go to the back, rinse it under cold water. Did you fall asleep with your contacts in? You know what that does. Make sure to wash your face, your eyes look a bit red.”

It may be from crying. Last night is really blurry. Jim imagines it’s what being drunk would feel like. He’s never had much time for partying though, and he’s avoided consuming enough alcohol that it would hinder his thinking much.

He’s too tired to protest, and does as he’s told.

Bones hands him a pair of glasses. “Put these on.”

“Do you just keep a spare here?”

“When you’re my employee? Yes.”

Jim hates it, but he’s getting a migrane so he drinks water and takes the twenty minute break Bones offers him along with the glasses.

The doctor doesn’t stop there though, because he closes the shop early and sits Jim down with a bottle of beer.

“Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Anything.”

“The warp core was invented in—”

“Not about that.”

Jim smirks dryly. “You said anything.”

“Bitch to me.”

Jim knows that Bones finds weird things to be therapeutic, which is why he’s holding out a bottle of beer to him. He frowns. “I don’t—”

“Complain, nag, bitch.” The med student brings his chair closer to Jim and yawns. “What’s eating at you?”

The blond doesn’t want to bother his friend with trivial matters. His inner demons are things that no one should have to deal with but him, it’s why they’re _inner demons_. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

“Anything that’s bugging you. Anything at all.”

_My sleep. My course load. My nightmares. My reflection. My weight, my face, myself. Spock, my stupid expectations for something more with Spock that comes out of nowhere. My life._

“We really need to change the lightbulb,” says Jim, tilting his head up to stare at the flickering light. It’s been that way for the past two weeks and yet Bones hasn’t done a thing about it. He knows this isn’t what the doctor wants him to vent about, but it’s the best he can do.

Bones gets up and opens the rusted cupboard Jim’s pretty sure has coffee beans from the 21st century.

“What are you doing?”

“Fixing the damn thing,” says Bones, taking out an old box of lightbulbs. He kicks a chair, forcing it to skid across the room, more or less underneath the faulty lightbulb and takes out a new one, examining. “Think this one’ll work?”

Jim shrugs. “Ask Scotty.”

“Knowing how to screw in a lightbulb ain’t got shit to do with engineering,” the doctor snarls. “I think I can get by just fine without Monty.”

The lightbulb gets fixed without needing to call the Scottish engineering student, and though it’s something small, Jim finds it helps his mood a lot.

He continues this way, telling Bones about little things that annoy him, like how the coffee machine always makes this terrible sound when you push a button too hard, and the state of the windows that they should probably clean more often than they do. Bones makes a call to Scotty to figure out the coffee machine, and the two of them clean the windows together, making an alternating schedule of who will clean them on which day.

By the time they’ve finished, the cupboard has been emptied of useless shit and reorganized, inventory has been checked, new types of coffee brew have been added to the grocery list, the specials menu has been redone and the front of the shop has never looked more spotless.

It’s almost 2 AM, but Jim doesn’t feel tired.

“Listen, kid,” Bones says, handing him a glass of water, his beer untouched. “You don’t have to talk to me about everything. I don’t need to know every little thought you have, but you _can_ talk to me. Even if it’s something stupid. You know what I mean?”

Jim nods.

They haven’t fixed his real problems, not really, but they’ve fixed a few things and maybe it’s stupid but it feels like proof that things _can_ be changed. Not everything has to be accepted as it is. The things he’s told Bones tonight aren’t even scratching the surface of his problems, but that Bones is willing to listen to stupid shit like this, and actually _do something_ about it means a lot to Jim.

Jim is not fine, but he thinks he’s going to be. He can be.


	41. Oil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Montgomery has to wonder how someone like Jim became friends with someone like Leonard McCoy, but then again, he had never imagined he’d be taking time from studying for his Transporter Theory test to investigate the weird sound the coffee machine made, but here he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, short chapter! Sorry!

Montgomery could _cry_ at the state of the coffee machine in front of him.

“It’s a miracle she hasn’t just gone tah hell already,” he says, inspecting the inside. It’s not exactly _old_ , so much as it’s not well-looked after. The model is only a decade old, it’s newer than Montgomery’s own, but he takes good care of his and he’s spruced it up with some extra features.

“Can you fix it or not?” demands Leonard.

Montgomery has to wonder how someone like Jim became friends with someone like Leonard McCoy, but then again, he had never imagined he’d be taking time from studying for his Transporter Theory test to investigate the weird sound the coffee machine made, but here he is.

“Aye, she’ll be running like a whistle in no time.”

Leonard goes to the front to work with the customers, and Jim dallies behind. Montgomery doesn’t mind, he likes the company as much as he likes the hum of an engine.

“Thanks for doing this, Scotty,” says the cadet.

Montgomery shrugs. “Just lending a hand ter a friend. Got anything else that might need a-lookin' at?”

“Er …” Jim scratches the back of his neck. “Do you know anyone who can get me a mirror?”

“A mirror?” he echoes. “Fur what?”

“Just a mirror. For a bathroom.”

“Ya can go ter a store fur that, can’t ya?” asks Montgomery, raising an eyebrow.

“I just … Do you know anyone?”

“What happen tah yours?”

“Uh …” Jim averts his eyes.

“Got it, ain’t goin’ tah ask. Want me tah install it?”

“Mirrors aren’t covered by engineering.”

“Don’t mean I don’t know how ter do it,” Montgomery says.

“If it’s not too much trouble?” It look as though each word is cutting him open to say.

“s’what friends are fur, eh?”

Jim nods, as though it’s painful for him.

Montgomery has always found humans hard to understand. Based on the pitch of a motor, he can tell what’s wrong and knows how to fix it, but humans are more complicated than that. He likes Jim Kirk though, he’s straightforward. He’s like a well-oiled machine that works hard and every now and then, has to be told to take a break before he overworks the gears.

When he turns up to install Jim’s new mirror, he can see the whole mirror’s story.

It hasn’t been looked at in ages, hasn’t been cleaned, and has some pieces missing, and cracks along the mainframe. There are hints of tape on the corners, as though it has been boarded up.

In that instance, Montgomery Scott realizes James Tiberius Kirk isn’t a well-oiled machine, he’s a machine with a gas leak.


	42. Confusing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You pay attention because of Kirk, you _stay_ because of Jim.

The thing about James T Kirk is he’s confusing as fuck.

After Spock— _Professor_ Spock’s initial comment about the cadet’s health, Nyota started watching James T. Kirk. What she found amazed her.

Slowly, Kirk became a different person, or rather, the Kirk she thought she knew peeled back and revealed the person she now knows, three months later, to be Jim.

She misjudged. She doesn’t like to think about it that much, but she did.

He isn’t cold and unfeeling. He’s just really _that_ busy. He’s dedicated on a level she hadn’t known existed. Every part of his being is devoted to learning, to education, to knowing _more_. And not because he thinks it’s what will get him ahead, it’s what he loves. He’s an academic, an intellectual who thirsts for knowledge, who wants to know more and more. He isn’t on the accelerated course because he wants to get the fuck out of the Academy, he’s taking it because the only thing that outweighs his love for knowledge is the want for the stars.

He isn’t conceited. In fact, he’s so fucking _selfless_ that he tears apart his health and doesn’t care for much else. His behaviour is self-destructive in its own way.

After he helps her with her paper, it’s impossible _not_ to notice Jim.

The Kirk in her head was a man who drew your attention because of his boldness and loud mouth, which you soon grew tired of and moved on. If you lingered a little longer, sat down for a game of chess or two with Kirk, you would find Jim. Quiet, shy, awkward Jim who puts his foot in his mouth half-way through a sentence but barrels through it anyway to get it over with.

You pay attention because of Kirk, you _stay_ because of Jim.

Nyota can say that she considers Jim to be her friend, and they seem to have worked past their differences. They have heated debates on the occasion, and he offers alternative viewpoints that she never thought to consider. After the debates, they tend to sit down for a game of chess. They’re fairly evenly matched.

Jim Kirk is the embodiment of the type of person Nyota believed she would meet at the Academy. One who is driven and dedicated, who strives for higher than imaginable. An intellectual who isn’t full of themselves, can stand to listen to other’s opinions, and formulates their own. In other words, the perfect Starfleet student.

It’s sad to say she hasn’t encountered many like Jim.

The final piece of the enigma that is James T. Kirk was solved over a game of chess, which Nyota finds to be rather fitting, in all honesty.

“So, when are you going to tell Professor Spock about your feelings?”

Jim chokes on his own spit, with a fair amount of dignity for someone whose saliva has turned against them. He thumps at his chest with a closed fist, and coughs. “Sorry, what?”

“I _said_ when are you going to tell Professor Spock about your feelings?”

“Ah … er …” Jim runs his fingers along a rook, calculating his next move. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“I plan on telling him within the upcoming week.”

“Good erm, good for you. Invite me to the wedding. Or … don’t.”

Sometimes Jim acts as though he doesn’t know Nyota, like they’re back to being acquaintances who occasionally catch each other’s gaze from across the room. It’s a pattern she’s come to learn with Jim. When asked about Professor Spock, he can wax poetry, making his feelings evident, but when confronted about his feelings for said-Vulcan, he closes off, becoming reserved.

“You had better act fast, or else I’ll steal him away.”

“I’m … I’m good, thanks.” He moves his rook and winces, realizing his mistake when Nyota captures it. “Er, good luck.”

“You have absolutely no intention of telling him?”

The blond shakes his head.

He seems oddly calm about it. This is unusual. If Nyota were to summarize James T. Kirk in a single word, it would probably be _passionate_ , yet his voice lacks its usual spark.

“Why not?”

“I’ll lose.”

Nyota raises an eyebrow. “So?”

“Isn’t that a bit unfair?”

Nyota watches as Jim moves his knight and captures her last pawn. “I don’t understand.”

“Making me enter a competition just to lose? Not that Spock’s a prize to win or anything, he’s his own person who makes his own choices. It just makes sense that he would choose you.” He shrugs, and taps his fingers along the board in contemplation of his next move.

Nyota moves her king out of a dangerous position. “So you’re giving up.”

“Can’t give up what I haven’t started.” There’s a self-deprecating laugh thrown in for good measure.

While she certainly doesn’t _want_ to compete with Jim for the professor’s attention, she can’t very well say she wants him to just _give up_. It doesn’t match with his character, with who she’s come to know Jim Kirk to be.

“Still, I feel—”

“What are you playing at, Nyota?” He sounds tired, and it shows on his face. “Do you _want_ me to vy for Spock’s love and affection?” Nyota wrinkles her nose at the thought. “Exactly. I say don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, or however that expression goes. Point is, I’m not telling him. End of discussion.”

“But—”

“It’s your move.”

There’s a finality in his voice that she’s never heard before, and something in his eyes that screams devastation. It leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

By the time the game is over, Jim comes out the victor, but Nyota has a new understanding of him.

Confidence.

That’s the secret.

Though many of her previous assumptions about Jim Kirk were wrong, one she has always maintained is that the man is confident. He walks with a certain way about him, and the way he talks is an almost quiet call for attention and recognition. He’s aware of his high standing in Starfleet, and his achievements that rank quite high for someone of his age.

Walking back to her dorm, she realizes that the confidence as well has been a mask.

James Kirk is not arrogant when answering all questions posed in class, he is reaffirming facts. It’s obvious in the way he poses his answer, always “right?” at the end, or “I think” at the beginning.

James Kirk is not a coward, he is cautious.

The outer layer of Jim peels back and reveals Jimmy, a young, confused, diffident boy who has accepted that the worst case scenario is the most likely, and acquiesces that this is a no-win scenario.

There’s something tragically beautiful about it, and she’s left in awe as he walks away from the chess board, from the challenge, from _Spock_ , with an iron casing around his heart.


	43. Platonic Thyla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s performed surgery while running on less than four hours of sleep with a bumbling assistant who nearly dropped a scalpel in the patient’s pancreas, he can tell some hobgoblin to talk some sense into his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would've posted it sooner, but Hydro cut my power to run some tests, and I woke up to no power. Sorry!

****Leonard should’ve known they’d make him do it.

He had called the study group together to discuss the intervention that Jim so desperately needed, but would never admit to, and it was agreed that since kidnapping was off the table (“yer a doctor, how can you even suggest that?” Monty had demanded, to which the not-quite-yet-doctor had pointed out he didn’t have the title until he handed in his final paper), the only one other thing that seemed to get through to the barista was his Vulcan professor.

Gary had thrown a fit, of course, and he and Nyota had butted heads over it. It was strange to hear Nyota Uhura stand up in defence of Jim, when she used to be so cold towards him, though he supposes it’s part of that special effect the blond has on people. As much as he’ll claim he has no social skills whatsoever, there’s something about James T. Kirk which draws you in, be it his dedication, determination, or sheer passion for everything he does.

He doesn’t have anything _against_ Spock, not really. He doesn’t know the Vulcan enough to have any misgivings about him, but of all the relationships Jim’s made, his is the one he’s the most wary about. Maybe it’s because the professor doesn’t know he holds his best friend’s heart in his little alien hand.

He knows Spock isn’t _bad_ , he’s helped Jim out on a few occasions, but it takes more than a few chess games to impress Leonard McCoy.

He’s about to knock on the professor’s door when it opens.

“You have been standing in the hallway for 8.23 minutes. I assume you wish to converse with me?”

This. _This_ is why the Vulcan gets on his nerves. He always makes him feel dumb, and the worst part is he’s pretty sure the green-blooded humanoid thinks he’s being _nice_ to him by speaking to him with that somewhat condescending tone. “I wanted to talk to you about Jim.”

“Is he adequate?”

_Is he adequate? The fuck?_

“Uh, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. He’s been … well something’s wrong.” Leonard coughs into his fist, trying to get the words out. He’s performed surgery while running on less than four hours of sleep with a bumbling assistant who nearly dropped a scalpel in the patient’s pancreas, he can tell some hobgoblin to talk some sense into his best friend.

“Elaborate.”

“He hasn’t been sleeping, which isn’t that unusual but his diet is all out of whack, and he’s … there was an … incident in his bathroom that’s too complicated to get into right now, but the point is, he’s on edge. _Really_ on edge. Like, he might start living off coffee and recite formulas in his sleep and try to use his caffeine as mouthwash. He needs an intervention.”

There are no words to describe how much Leonard hates that Jim won’t listen to him. He _knows_ if he straps the blond into a chair and forces him to slow things down, he’ll still burn himself out within a few days. That this … this _alien_ whose species is _known_ for their lack of emotions can get through to his best friend more than him is beyond infuriating, but it’s for the cadet’s own good, so Leonard will put his pride aside and suck it up because James T. Kirk never comes first to himself, and so he is _always_ first to him.

Spock’s brow furrows. “Are you not a more suitable candidate?”

Leonard blinks. He was _not_ expecting that. “What?”

“As his longtime friend,” here he stumbles, “you are much more suited for this task. You are his platonic _thyla_.”

Leonard’s never heard of this “thigh-la” (?) thing, but it sounds like some kind of disease. “Yeah well, he won’t listen to me. Maybe you’ll get through his thick skull.”

“The density of Jim’s cranium is pressumably—”

“Not what I meant, but okay then.” Leonard bites his lip. “I’ll leave you to it.”

It’s stupid to be jealous of an alien. The doctor’s _proud_ to be a member of the human race, but there’s something to be said about the sadness in his stomach when even the Vulcan can tell it’s wrong for him to be the one talking to Jim about his problems when _Leonard’s_ the blond’s best friend.


	44. The Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Spock were human, he would say _what the fuck_. If he were fully Vulcan, he would say _fascinating_. As he is neither, in an attempt to overcome the cultural gap, he thinks _fucking fascinating._

****Spock is unsure of how to approach the subject.

He has known Jim long enough to know that “cornering” the man will lead to unsatisfactory results, however he cannot approach the manner too casually, or else he will be “brushed off”.

Unsure of the correct course of action, he does what is familiar to him.

He invites Jim to play chess.

The blond cadet takes a seat across from him in his office during his lunch break.

This serves two purposes:

1: He can properly conduct the required “intervention”, as Doctor McCoy puts it in a familiar environment which Jim is unlikely to feel “trapped” in.

2: He can make sure Jim is eating properly.

The barista across from him has severe darkening below his eyes as well as trembling fingers as they move his rook. He appears distracted, and is drinking caffeine with salad.

“Hey, what’s that book you’ve got?”

Spock blinks. “To what are you referring?”

“That book,” the blond nods to the old copy of _Galaxy Science Fiction_ from the 20th century. “You don’t strike me as the type to enjoy fiction.”

“As I have never applied physical force on your person, I fail to see how I may ‘strike you’ in any manner.” James T. Kirk is perhaps the only human in Spock’s acquaintance who has not touched him much at all. The desire to eradicate the metaphorical barrier between the two of them is, as he now understands, a result of Jim being his _thyla_ , however as the cadet is human, he understands this is not a mutual experience. Vulcans do not get disappointed.

Jim laughs. Similar to most humans, when the blond laughs, his head is tilted backwards, and his body shakes. The sound is pleasant, though Spock worries the careless human will fall from his seated position. “It’s an expression,” he says. “You just … I didn’t think you’d like fiction.”

“It was a gift from Mother.”

“Your mom?”

“That is what I said.”

Jim’s mouth drops open just the slightest bit. Spock can see his teeth rather clearly. They are nice teeth.

“Is something alarming to you?”

“No, I just … I never really think about you as like … not you. I mean, not like not you, _not you_ , but like you before I knew you? Which is totally ridiculous because _of course_ you existed before I knew you and, like, obviously your existence isn’t defined by the duration of time you’ve known me because that’d be a pretty Goddamn short life, though it would make you the most intelligent five month old— which I bet you were— oh shit, you were a _baby_ once!”

“I underwent the typical developmental stages of physical and cognitive changes similar to those of a Vulcan, and consequently, not unlike those of a human.”

“What’s your mom like?”

“Illogical.”

Jim raises an eyebrow. “She’s human?”

“Affirmative.”

“Wow.” Jim leans back in his chair to a worrying degree of elevation. “Your dad’s a bit of a rebel, isn’t he? Marrying into such an illogical race. He must really love her.”

“Indeed.”

This is puzzling. The assumption most make upon discovering Mother’s genetic differences is the marriage between his parents was diplomatic in nature. As Father is the Vulcan ambassador for Earth, and Mother is involved in inter-planetary politics, it is not an illogical assumption. Thinking that love was the reason for their union is not often the conclusion most people reach, as it is believed Vulcans are not capable of love. This a common, though false, assumption made by many species, Vulcan included.

This not the premeditated direction of the conversation.

It is, to Spock’s surprise, rather pleasant nonetheless.

The cadet seems persistent on this line of questioning as he then inquires about the like-ness of Mother.

“Perhaps you would like to meet her?”

If Spock were human, he would say _what the fuck_. If he were fully Vulcan, he would say _fascinating_. As he is neither, in an attempt to overcome the cultural gap, he thinks _fucking fascinating._

Jim is equally surprised.

“Uh, really?”

Spock opens his mouth to retract his statement, but wishes not to and instead, still to his own surprise, says “It is difficult to explain Mother accurately. So as to not mislead you with biased information, the most appropriate course of action would be to allow you to form your own opinion based on personal experience.”

“Oh.”

“You do not wish to?”

“No, I wish, I _do_ , I just …” He rubs his neck and chuckles. “Never met someone’s parents before. Never been the kind you … never mind.” Spock does not understand what is funny. Before he can inquire, Jim continues speaking, and it would be rude to interrupt him. “When can I meet her?”

“I converse with her on a monthly basis. You may speak with her at the closest convenience to you.”

Jim nods, taking a sip of his coffee. “Alright then. Meeting Mrs. Spock.” He wrinkles his nose. “That’s not her actual name, is it?”

“Affirmative. Her name is Amanda Grayson.”

“Amanda Grayson,” Jim repeats. “So, have you read the book your mom gave you? I used to have a copy of it, I think. A collection of short stories, right? You got a favourite?”

Spock blinks. “It is illogical to show favouritism.”

Jim’s grin is metaphorically blinding. “There must’ve been _one_ you liked more than the others. One that’s more memorable than the rest?”

Spock almost fidgets. He is Vulcan, so he does not. “ _[A Saucer of Loneliness](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Saucer_of_Loneliness)_.”

Jim’s eyes widen, similar to “saucers”, as the human expression goes. “No way.”

“It is not possible for an opinion to be false, as it is an opinion. Is this choice unfavourable to you?”

“No, it’s just, you’re gonna think I’m bullshitting you, but I remember that one. It was the best. I mean, _I_ think it was the best. Not that I’m like, the leading authority about that sort of thing. It was good. Really good. It’s one of the reasons I want to get into space.”

Spock wrinkles his nose. It is not his proudest moment. “Terran standards would say it is not a happy story. For what reason do you see it as superior?”

“I wouldn’t say _superior_ , just better.” The blond shrugs. “I just … I want to help them. The people. From being lonely.”

“For what purpose?”

He hums, leaning forward in his seat once more. “Cause I get it. I was lonely. Still am, in some ways. It’s gotten better, what with Bones and Nyota and Pavel and the whole gang, but I get lonely still. You can feel lonely in a crowded room, surrounded by thousands of people. It can still feel like there’s no one there.

“Being alone is good, helps you clear your head, sort out your thoughts. It’s pretty common for people to want to be alone, in humans at least, but we still seek company. In some form of another, we like to have someone _there_. They don’t have to say anything, sometimes silence can be entertaining if you’re with the right person.

“There are so many lonely people in this universe, and if I can decrease that number, then I will. It’s the smallest things that help you realize you’re not alone. I just want to … I dunno, put my hand on an alien’s shoulder, and tell them I’m here for them. For anyone. It’s what I’d want someone to do. Save me from my boredom, from losing my mind. From my own company. From getting too lost in my own head.

“I just want to let an alien know that I’m here, and they’re not alone.”

_You already have._

Because Spock has always been alone. He has always been the only one of his species. He has never made “friends” easily, has never interacted well with humans, or Vulcans. He has never felt adequate when in the company of either of the two species which make up his genetic encryption. He has never felt _right_ anywhere, never been _enough_ in any capacity, always just a little too far behind, or too far ahead. He has never felt like he has belonged.

And it does not matter that Jim will never know what he means to Spock, nor that he will never understand that the bond they share is one that is sacred and revered in the Vulcan tradition.

Here, in his office, with an untouched chess board between himself and his unknowing _thyla_ with James Tiberius Kirk, Spock feels adequate, exactly as he is. He feels as though he belongs.

Because when Jim tells him he is not alone, he believes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _To the loneliest one..._  
>  _There is in certain living souls_  
>  _A quality of loneliness unspeakable_  
>  _So great it must be shared_  
>  _As company is shared by lesser beings_  
>  _Such a loneliness is mine; so know by this_  
>  _That in immensity_  
>  _There is one lonelier than you_.  
>  \- _A Saucer of Loneliness_


	45. Amanda Grayson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is laughing at him. She is 100% laughing at him. A woman who has lived on a planet with thousands of men with bowl cuts with a straight face finds Jim to be pathetic. This is terrible.

Amanda Grayson is a beautiful woman. She stands tall and proud with a restrained smile, though her eyes shine when she looks at her son. 

“Who’s this?” she asks, nodding at the nervous wreck of a twenty-four year old.

“This is Jim,” says Spock. “I shall now leave the two of you to converse freely.”

_Wait. That wasn’t the plan._

“Hang on a minute, I never said I’d just— you didn’t tell me I’d just be thrown into a conversation with your mom!”

Spock quirks an eyebrow and Jim hates how attractive he finds it. “You do not wish to speak to her?”

“Of course I want to speak to her!” Jim says, very much concerned about the fact that the woman is in question is watching them talk about her like she’s not even there. He turns to her quickly. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Vulcan. Mrs. Grayson. M’a’am.” She appears to be laughing at him, which is a comforting thought ( _not)_ as he turns back to her son. “I don’t have anything prepared! Don’t do this to me right now! No offence,” he adds quickly.

Spock’s mother is definitely amused.

This is _not_ how he wanted first impressions to go.

Of course, it’s not like he and Spock are dating, he has no reason to impress, but he wants her to like him. A lot. Desperately. Perhaps more than he’s ever wanted anything, and isn’t that stupid?

“If you are truly uncomfortable with the situation, I may stay,” Spock offers.

“I do not bite,” says the one who haunts Jim’s nightmares aka Amanda Grayson. “I promise.”

“I …” He’s being stupid. Gulping down the lump in his throat, he manages to speak. “Never mind. I’m okay.”

Spock frowns. “Okay is similar to fine, having many variables, thus making it an inefficient indicator. Okay is unacceptable.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah, you know what? It’s better if you leave. We can gossip about you.”

Spock quirks an eyebrow. “You would not do such a thing.”

“Try me.”

“I shall.”

With that, he turns to leave and Jim wants to shove all the words back into his mouth and chase after the Vulcan with apologies spilling from his mouth as the door closes, sounding rather final. He stares at the space his friend once occupied, now vacant, similar to his stomach really.

“So.”

He nearly jumps out of his skin, standing at full attention. “Yes sir— _ma’am_. Yes ma’am, ma’am! _T'nar pak sorat y’rani!_ ” He’s pretty sure that’s right, but he can never be certain since his human tongue isn't meant to wrap around words that way.

He can’t tell if that small smile is a good thing.

“You are the infamous Jim.”

_Infamous? Shit, what does that mean?_

“Er.”

“I must first thank you for befriending my son. I know he can be difficult.”

Jim frowns. “He’s not difficult. Frustrating, hell yes. But difficult? Nah. Not once you figure him out. Not to say that I have, you’re his mom, you know him way better than I do, but I just mean like … erm, it’s like …” He bites his lip. “I like to think I know him.”

“Indeed.” She is laughing at him. She is 100% laughing at him. A woman who has lived on a planet with thousands of men with bowl cuts with a straight face finds Jim to be pathetic. This is terrible. “You taught him something he did not know. That is quite an accomplishment.”

“You mean chess?” The blond rubs his neck. “I uh, it isn’t that big a deal. You should see him play 3D chess, he’s like a master, impossible to win against him. Oh, but I did win once.”

“Oh?” she raises an eyebrow in that perfect Vulcan way.

“Yeah. He had been drinking this latte I made him, cause he had some froth on his upper lip.”

“A latte?” she echoes. “With sugar?”

“Uh, yeah.” Jim tilts his head. “Is that weird?”

Amanda Grayson goes silent.

She hates him. She totally hates him.

And then, to his surprise, she laughs. It’s a strange laugh. Like it’s not used to being used, like she hasn’t laughed in a while and has forgotten how to. He chuckles nervously along, and the laughter stops abruptly.

“Jim, what is your opinion of my son?”

The cadet frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You speak with him in a fairly casual manner. I assume this is to say you are close?”

“I uh, well I like to think we are.” He rubs the back of his neck, his hands clamming up. “I don’t know what he thinks of our erm, relationship, but last I checked we were friends. Hope we still are. It’d be weird if I were meeting you and I wasn’t his friend …”

She looks at him with eyes that seem to say she can see through him. With a gaze that says she _knows_.

“You like Spock.”

So she _does_ know.

“I er …”

“It’s okay,” she says. “This is not the 21st century, you are not disgusting for having these feelings for a male.”

“I wasn’t concerned about that,” he admits. “I’m not gay though, you know. I’ve dated girls before. I’ve _liked_ girls before.” _Never liked any of them as much as I like your son,_ he doesn’t say. He doesn’t know why he’s explaining his sexuality to her. “I just …”

“Your face says you believe your feelings to be something to apologize for.”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t say _that_ , they’re just … hard to deal with. I’m ... dealing with them. I guess.”

She’s looking at him like he’s saddened her and he doesn’t want to, so he does what he always does when he panics. He talks fast and distracts.

“So stars. They really don’t twinkle in space, do they? It’s got to do with the whole light reaching your eye thing. Isn’t it awesome that you can look at a star that’s been dead for _years,_ but for you, it still exists? It’s like continuing on its existence and supporting it even though it’s no longer around. And I heard that the asteroids in space are way more spaced out than you thought they were, which is pretty cool too, means you don’t immediately get fucked over when you go through the Belt— oh shit, I just swore in front of you— and I did it again. Okay, not swearing.

“How about dwarf planets? I mean, I’m sure Pluto’s pretty confused about what the hell it is. Hell’s an okay swear word, right? Pluto, right? No one knows what to say about it. And how do they even name those planets? Isn’t it funny, Pluto, named after the Roman god of death, forgotten, and ‘dead’? Am I the only one who thinks that’s funny?

“What about Wolf 359? It’s a red dwarf planet. I wrote a paper on it in elementary school. I mean, I used to think it was named Wolf because they had wolves on it, but nope. The guy who found it had the last name Wolf, and he listed it in his nightly observations under 359, so that’s why it’s called that. Could’ve made the number less arbitrary, like about the coordinates or something, but nope. It’s just that. Did you know Uranus could’ve been named George? Or Hershel?

“You probably knew that. What time is it over there? Looks kind of dark. Do you get used to the temperature? Does it become less boiling the longer you’re there? Are you regretting the fact that Spock isn’t here anymore? I am. Oh God, I really need to shut up so I’m just going to in three, two one.”

He clamps his jaw down faster than he ever has, his teeth knock together.

Well, this has been a disaster and a half.

Amanda Grayson smiles at him all the same, and tells him it’s been a pleasure to meet him, while Jim wishes someone would shoot him out of an airlock pretty pretty please.


	46. Starman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He fell from the stars, and is trying to get back to his home, amongst the multitude of galaxies, to visit his old friend, the Man on the Moon.

****Amanda Grayson has met many beautiful people in her life. Beautiful men and women, beautiful extraterrestrials, beautiful beings, but there is a type of beauty that resides in the blond in front of her that transcends her previously held beliefs of beauty.

His hair is not golden as Spock described it, she sees this is a bias from his elevated opinion of the man. His eyes are blue, but not a blue which one would wax poetic about. His skin has several blemishes, certain wrinkles and markings, his nose is dotted with pale freckles and crooked. His lips are not full, nor thin. His eyebrows are not well looked after, adequate, at best. He smiles with a nervous tilt, his voice has a certain tremor of panic. His fingernails are chewed to the skin, the dermal has been bitten at, chewed at. He cannot stay still, fidgets with various parts of his uniform and stands stiffly, even by Vulcan standards. Spock is not in the room, he has left to allow them to converse freely.

No, James Tiberius Kirk is not beautiful in the sense that most think of.

His beauty comes in the way he stutters out “ma’am” and flushes on the insistence to call her Amanda. It stems from the nervous tick he has of running his fingers through his hair, as though he may find the correct response amongst his locks. There is no grace to the way he talks, no pattern, no rhythm or steady beat. His voice lacks confidence in many areas, and he is hesitant to speak out. His beauty is unveiled fully when he starts to talk about the stars.

Eyes that were once like a drop of water in the ocean become the sparkling star in the galaxy. His entire face changes, his demeanour, his speech comes out faster in a way of excitement rather than nerves. He forgets to finish sentences and jumps from topic to topic quickly. He tries very hard to address her properly, tries to speak Vulcan, though he is not very good at it.

He reminds her of herself, upon her first meeting of Sarek.

There’s a difference though. This is a man who is so full of emotion, so clearly combusting with it, whether it be good or bad, he feels so fully, and she wonders if James Tiberius Kirk’s beauty stems from how very _alive_ he is.

 _Was I beautiful like that?_ She wonders as she gives him a small smile, the only type of smile she can conjure since her marriage. _Was I ever this beautiful?_ And she thinks no, she came close, but not quite. There is something more in Jim Kirk, which can’t be described. There’s a depth to him that words cannot describe, there is no way she can explain the man standing before her, who she knows will be in history textbooks, who will be forever remembered, though he does not know it. He is a man who is going to go places, map out the galaxy and work out diplomatic problems across light years, will fix a planet torn at war. Because Earth cannot house James Tiberius Kirk. He is too grand to be self-contained, to be confined to a planet as small and insignificant as Earth.

His desire for the stars stems from the most innocent curiosity. He fell from the stars, and is trying to get back to his home, amongst the multitude of galaxies, to visit his old friend, the Man on the Moon. He is waiting to swim in the Milky Way, to take a sip from the Big Dipper, to wrestle Ursa Minor, and Major. Play fetch with Sirius and re-direct Artemis’ bow. He is ready to make sure Aquarius never drops its water, will hold up the universe with a smile and when he’s seen every nook and cranny, he will still look at each blade of grass on Earth with wonder and amazement. He will read bedtime stories to the stars and sing the lullaby the sun wants to hear when it is time to go. He transcends space and time, he will lead boldly into the future, he will make a path for himself. He will tame the Scorpion of the sky, dance on Saturn’s rings, introduce himself to each of Jupiter’s moons. He will live on an asteroid for a year, and visit each one. He will reassure Pluto about its inexplicable existence, will speak to each red dwarf, pay attention to Wolf 359. He will visit each planet with a smile, with the same excitement as a child on Christmas Day, every day, and when he floats in space, tired and exhausted, with barely enough energy in his body to open his mouth, he will smile up at the stars.

He will go out like a supernova, big and beautiful and wonderful, the most beautiful thing you have ever witnessed. He will be the illuminating force of the sun, with the calm serenity of the moon. This is a man who will have a space burial because solid ground cannot hold him, who will hear the hum of his ship’s engine like a metronome of his life. He will steady his heartbeat to the roar of the engine, and do reckless things. His is the voice that will be heard in the vacuum of space.

He will never go unnoticed. He will make history. He will be the aspiration of every Starfleet Captain that comes after, he will define a new era of space exploration, and when people can no longer remember Starfleet’s foundation date, his birthday will never be forgotten, remembered as a national holiday.

And through it all, the fame he is bound to achieve, he will never rest quietly. He will never allow himself to become an Admiral, he will never be satisfied with the warmth of Terran soil again. He will look upon the stars with the same child-like wonder and amazement, always wanting to know more and more and more and he will strive to find it all, as much as he can before he goes. He will live the space adventures only read about in books. He is the man that everyone thinks of as the hero of their story. And his head will never grow, his ego will forever remain dim. He will burn so brightly, so blindingly, he will go out like a supernova, and still insist it was like a feather falling.

And she knows from the way Spock looks at him, her son will stand right next to him as he makes the universe explode just to learn it all over again.

James Tiberius Kirk is a type of beautiful that transcends beauty itself.

This is the man who holds her young Spock’s heart. And she knows he will treat him well. He will accept everything about him, has accepted everything, because for James Tiberius Kirk it is not the similarities that he sees in people. He notices the differences, and he loves people for them.

He knows the melody of the song she has long forgotten, and she trusts him to keep it with him.

He is the Peter Pan of the galaxy, stealing her kiss that’s sealed away in a box kept close to her heart. He is the embodiment of the incomprehensible emotional humanity that Vulcans often look at in wonder. He holds the beauty that Serak first fell in love with, the beauty he first saw in her.

She wonders if she still has it, after all these years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is undoubtedly one of my FAVOURITE chapters.


	47. Singing Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your mother is like a caged singing bird who has lost its voice. Do not take away James Tiberius Kirk’s voice.”

As Jim and Mother converse, Spock has taken the time to contact his father, whom he speaks to on a less frequent basis.

“Are you adequate, Spock?” asks Father. He is as stern as Spock remembers.

“Affirmative, Father. And are you adequate, Father?”

“Affirmative.”

Though he knows logically there is no way that a conversation can truly be “stiff”, it is how it feels when he speaks to Father. He contemplates telling him what he has discovered about James Kirk, and how he understands why Father looks after Mother the way that he does. Instead, he says “I have found my _thyla_ , Father.”

Normal humans would say that this manner of speaking is too formal, however, there is no reason to partake in “small talk”, as they say, when speaking to Father. It is as illogical as human emotions.

“It is James Tiberius Kirk.”

It is not a question.

“Affirmative.”

He waits. For what, he does not know. Perhaps judgment, though his human side, which he attempts to shove down, refutes it would be hypocritical of Father to look down on him for developing such feelings for a human. Perhaps he is waiting for scorn. What he finds instead are eyes that convey emotion, much like humans do.

This is unusual.

“Spock, do not do as I did.”

“I do not comprehend, Father. Clarify.”

“Your mother,” here he pauses, which is odd enough, “is beautiful.” Spock nods. This is a fact. “She was more beautiful previously.”

Spock cannot fathom this. He says so.

“When I first met your mother, she was young and, as the humans say, carefree. She laughed with her head tilted back. Her body would vibrate with the sound, and she made noises resembling a pig which she attempted to cover with her hands, though it was futile as the barrier of human flesh cannot prevent sound waves from traveling.

“Your mother enjoyed singing. She had a beautiful voice. She would hum when she was doing something, and would sing when she bathed. She taught me many songs when I first met her. She liked to whistle. Do you remember the lullabies she would sing to you?”

Spock does not. He wishes he did.

“I love your mother, Spock, as you know. Loving your mother is as logical as the act of meditation. In teaching you Surakian principles, I fear you have ‘fallen’ as they say, for the disillusion that many Vulcans have. Vulcans are not unfeeling. We are a species which feel strongly, to the point where we have gone to war over trivial things due to the intensity of our emotions. Most have misconstrued Surak’s teachings, believing them to mean that Vulcans cannot feel, and by cutting ourselves off to emotion, we may live in peace. It is not so.

“The purpose of Surakian principles is to control emotions, not conceal them. It is to ensure that our violent tendencies do not manifest, though you will find that you cannot escape your biology when your Time comes. You are not weak for feeling emotions, you are considered illogical to allow them to interfere with your judgment. Traditionally, you will conserve these emotions inside of you for when you encounter your bondmate.

“In taking your mother as my bondmate, I taught her the ways of our people. She no longer laughs, nor does she sing. Though these actions are the height of illogic, I find myself missing them deeply, for her sincerity and humanity have been taken away from her. She does not feel as openly as she did once. She misses it deeply.

“Do not do as I did, Spock. Do not constrain your _thyla._ Allow him to smile as widely as he wishes, and laugh and yell as much as he desires. Permit him to make jokes and speak with his hands for illogical gestures. Do not restrict him by requesting logical gifts, do not force him to meditate upon his emotions rather than to feel them.

“Your mother is like a caged singing bird who has lost its voice. Do not take away James Tiberius Kirk’s voice.”

Spock nods.

He cannot make himself say that this is information he will never use, as he will never have James Tiberius Kirk. He does not mention that he has no plans to cage the free bird that is James Kirk, even if he should ever somehow manage to capture his interests, he does not sense he could keep him for long. The intensity of what he feels is frightening to Spock himself, he cannot imagine forcing such a thing upon Jim.

He nods anyway, illogically hoping one day he may put Father’s advice to use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter I was super psyched about.


	48. The Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is illogical to assume that because the communications student is more eloquent and calm, often thinking about things critically and analytically, she is any less human than Jim.

“Professor Spock— _Spock_ , I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Spock does not like the casual way she addresses him. “Cadet Uhura—”

“Nyota, please.”

“I do not feel comfortable addressing you as such,” says the professor stiffly.

“Why?”

“Pardon?”

“Why not? You call Kirk Jim.”

“It is his name.”

“And Nyota is mine,” says the cadet. “Why can’t you … why can’t you call me by my first name? You do it with Kirk, and _only_ with Kirk. I ignored it at first, but he’s the only one who gets to call you Spock, you hate it when I call you that.”

“That is untrue.”

“You look like you’re being poisoned!”

“It is the natural tint of my skin,” Spock replies tight-lipped. “You are showing signs of increased adrenal and cortisol. Is something the matter?”

It is odd to see Nyota Uhura distressed in this way. Spock has been the instructor to two of the classes the communications student is enrolled in and has always admired her attention to detail. She has always made distinct contribution to in-class discussions and has approached concepts with drastically different viewpoints which have always made him think. She is a commendable person, a fine specimen. This is unlike her.

“Cut the bullshit! I know Kirk’s special to you, he’s your favourite! So what if he’s super smart? So he plays chess, and knows how you like your tea. I could know it too, if you’d just _tell me._ I can learn your traditions and your culture, I can speak to your in your mother tongue, I can _adapt._ I could treat you just as good as Kirk does, if you’d just _let me_.”

Ah. He sees his mistake now.

He has always seen Nyota Uhura as above human nature. She and Jim are both fascinating to him, offering differing opinions and stimulating conversation, however Cadet Uhura has always seemed _more_ than human, which he understands now is factually wrong in every way. It is illogical to assume that because the communications student is more eloquent and calm, often thinking about things critically and analytically, she is any less human than Jim.

How _human_ she is has never been so evident as now, as she brushes her hair away from her face, taking a few breaths to calm herself. “Look, I just …” She places her hands on her hips, she’s standing straighter, as though to make herself larger. “I need to know. Do you like Kirk?”

“Jim is—”

“Don’t,” Cadet Uhura interrupts him. “Don’t try and sugarcoat it. A simple answer will do. Just tell me to my face, do you like him? If you don’t like me, that’s fine.” It is not. He can tell from her voice. “But if you can’t even respect me enough to tell it to my face, then I _will_ slap you, Vulcan culture be damned!”

Spock blinks. “Jim has—”

“I don’t care what he has or doesn’t have, I care about _you_. What do you feel towards him?”

“I …” Spock’s eyes flit away from Cadet Uhura in one of the most human acts she’s ever seen from him. “He is _thyla_.”

Cadet Uhura nods, her lower lip trembling. She is as incomprehensibly human as Jim, in many ways. Spock wishes she would cry. He would feel better. He loves humans for this reason, their unabashed emotions that often times get in the way. He reaches forward and touches her through the fabric of her uniform. “Cry,” he says. “You are not Vulcan. You do not need to pretend to be.”

And she does.


	49. Skip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I never took you for a coward, Kirk.”_
> 
> Neither did he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand apologies.

****She told him.

She fucking _told him_ she was going to do it, but he’s still frozen when he sees them in the doorway.

Any thoughts of asking for a friendly chess game fly out the window as he watches Nyota approach Spock, so close, so much closer than Jim’s ever dared to get with Spock. She’s looking up at him with those eyes, eyes that scream _I like you_ and Spock … Jim thought he was getting better at reading the Vulcan, but he’s left without words as he watches Nyota reach out to him.

He turns and runs.

He runs, and runs, not sure where he’s going, not sure where he’s running to, only knowing what he’s running from. Her words echo in his head.

_“I never took you for a coward, Kirk.”_

Neither did he.

But he doesn’t have another word for it as he turns around corner after corner, trying to get as much distance as he possibly can from the scene that’s unfolded before him. It’s not as if this stops the event from happening, it’s not as if it’ll undo the fact that Nyota has taken Spock, as he’s always thought she would, not that Spock’s a thing that can be taken or given to someone. She hasn’t _stolen_ the Vulcan from him, not when he put up such a useless, non-existent fight.

This is how it was always going to go.

Even if he _had_ thrown his hat into the ring, the outcome would’ve been the same.

You’d be a fool to choose little Jimmy Kirk over Nyota Uhura.

He barely trusts his legs to support him as he dashes down the halls and fumbles with his books that are too heavy suddenly. Working on autopilot he’s headed in a direction he just has to trust is the right one because formulas and logic have abandoned him and he’s reminded of how _human_ he is, how imperfect he is this way. He can’t pretend to be flawless the way Nyota does, it’s so tiring just to keep himself moving as he breaks through the doors and doesn’t stop until he’s in his apartment.

The books scatter across the ground, he trips over the stupid welcome mat, and hits his chin against the floor. There’s probably blood. If not, a bruise at least.

The tears come without warning.

They don’t last long.

It’s hard to cry. It’s exhausting, and the worst part is he’s not even _sad_. He’s _frustrated_. That he had thought, for even a moment, had hoped for even a _second_. He knew Nyota was better than him, that she was the right choice, and yet he had _hoped_ that maybe Spock felt the same.

He’s the epitome of illogic.

He wishes Nyota was a bitch, but she’s not. He wishes he could hate her, and hates that he wants to hate her, but she’s not as cold as she pretends to be. She’s a _good person_ , and Spock’s lucky to have her, anyone would be. If she wants to be with him, then she should be. They’re adults, they can figure this shit out without Jim getting his messy feelings in the mix. It’s not even a love triangle if you don’t really have a shot in the first place, is it?

He falls asleep soon after he cries, curled up in a ball and wakes up to numerous texts from Bones, asking where he is. Spock has sent him a message too, an e-mail with all the classwork he’s missed.

Because he’s skipped class.

For the first time ever, James T. Kirk has skipped a class.

He throws his PADD against the wall, watches it slip down, glares at it.

His bones ache as he sits up, and stares at the shattered screen.

_Shit, no._

He can’t afford a replacement for that. And he remembers Bones looking at him and saying “ _there are some things no doctor can fix_ ”, and he should’ve _listened_ , but of course he didn’t, because he never does, does he?

He can’t believe he thought captain was a good idea. He can’t get himself under control, how is he supposed to deal with an entire command crew? He’ll let himself mourn a little longer, but this pity-fest can’t last long. He’ll sleep it off a bit more, walk it off.

He’ll be fine.

Jim Kirk has always gotten through life faking it. This isn’t all that different. He’s a good actor.

But for now, he’ll think about it. He’ll torture himself with the images of what could’ve been, maybe not here, not in this universe, _definitely_ not in this universe, but in a world where he was smoother, where he was _attractive_ , where Spock could look at him and think he was smart and not illogical, would look at him and see past his flawed humanity and think he was perfect the way Spock was. He thinks about a world where Spock would want to touch him, a universe where he and Spock stand side by side at the head of a starship, travelling the galaxy together, mapping the stars and making up constellations and stealing kisses on shore leave.

Once he’s tired, his cheeks are sticky with his drying tears. He forces himself to his feet, and collects the remains of his PADD, staring at the fractured screen, mirroring his heart.

He’s fine.

Even if it has multiple meanings and is unacceptable, it has to be okay for now because he doesn’t know if he can do better than fine. He schools his features, prepares the mask that’ll settle on his face and suffocate him silently. Once it’s in place, he prepares his explanation for Scotty about why he needs a new PADD.

If his hand shakes when he hands it over, that’s his own business.


	50. Virgin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s cause I’m not him, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Warnings at end.

It’s been two weeks. Jim’s getting by, he supposes. No one comments on the skipped class, but he knows they think about it. It’s unlike him, but he’s glad no one questions him. He doesn’t know what he’d say.

The usual routine goes on as planned, he goes to study group meetings, they cover the topics they need to, though the cafe is surprisingly vacant tonight.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Said they were busy,” says Gary with a shrug. He stretches, his back cracking unpleasantly. “I think we should take a break.”

The blond rolls his eyes. “You can’t graduate if you get lazy. We’ve barely started.”

“Yeah, I know, but c’mon, you’re like a machine. You’re never going to stop unless someone makes you.” He rubs his thumbs into Jim’s shoulder blades. “You’re too tense. Relax a little.”

He lets Gary rub his shoulders, press his fingers into his back. The tension begins to leave his shoulders, as he falls forward on the booth. He lets out a sigh of contentment when it clicks to him.

Gary likes him.

He _knows_ Gary likes him. And right now, he just wants to be liked.

So even if it’s a bit weird, and it feels a little strange, he arches into his touch. His body is warm. It could be warmer, if he were someone else, but he pushes that thought away. If he closes his eyes, he can think, for just an instant, that it’s someone else holding him.

Gary’s fingers dig deeply, they run along his spine and his neck. He leans closer, breathes into the shell of his ear. Jim tries not to squirm, he’s responding, this is consent, right? Even if he’s not who he wants, he’s someone, someone who wants him, no matter how fucked up he is right now, and that counts for something, right?

“Hey, Jimmy?”

He hates it when Gary calls him Jimmy, but he bites back his protest.

“You still a virgin?”

Jim’s cheeks flush. He’s not embarrassed about it, exactly, though he supposes most would find it super embarrassing. There’s nothing wrong with him, everything _works_ , he’s just never found time. Or rather, he’s never made time. Maybe it’s because he’s never felt ready, or because he’s pretty sure he doesn’t need it. It’s a distraction from his schoolwork. It’s not like he hasn’t considered it. He has, numerous times, but he’s always stopped it before it went too far.

“Are we really going to have this conversation now?” he asks. Gary’s talking, and it’s ruining the whole illusion. His hands snake down from Jim’s neck to the V of his shirt, slipping beneath the fabric. The cadet nearly jumps out of his skin, his knee jerking up and hitting against the table. “I er, Gary?”

“Hmm?”

“W-what are you doing?”

He feels something along his neck as the dark-haired barista’s hands trail lower, something wet and—

“Hey, wait,” he says, but Gary holds onto his shoulders tightly when he tries to stand up.

“Just like that,” Gary whispers into his ear and it’s maybe supposed to be soothing, but Jim feels gross and icky all over. He hums against the hollow his neck, and his lips are too close to his skin for comfort. “Just relax, Jimmy—”

“Gary, stop it!”

He tries to slip underneath the table, but the grip on him tightens and he’s stuck in place.

Gary licks the shell of his ear, much to his displeasure.

“C’mon, I know you want it, Jimbo. I’m just having some fun, you really do need to get laid, don’t you? Don’t want your good looks going to waste, now do we?” The amount of pressure he’s using to keep him in place alarms him. “Let go. Enjoy it. You’re such a tease, isn’t it time I profited from this body of yours?”

“Stop it.” He hopes his voice doesn’t tremble.

“I can fuck that tight ass of yours, you know. All you have to do is beg for it, like the secret slut we both know you are.”

Jim moves his arms as best as he can, managing to get a good shot in Gary’s solar plexus, forcing the older barista to let him go out of surprise. He ducks underneath the table and crawls away from him, to find that Gary is licking his lips.

He feels dirty.

“It’s cause I’m not him, isn’t it?”

“W-what?”

“Cause you know Jim, that whole exotic thing he’s got going on isn’t going to last. You’ll get bored.” He’s moving now. Jim’s trying to move backwards, away, but he’s tripping over his own feet because it’s late and he’s tired and he was _not_ expecting this today, or any day really.

“I don’t understand—”

“You want his alien cock, don’t you? Humans aren’t enough for you, you stupid whore. I could give it to you so much _better_ than that _freak_ —”

_CRACK!_

Jim’s not sure how he manages it, but he’s got blood on his fist and Gary’s keeled over and dripping from the nose. He moves around the table, trying to get closer to him, but Jim backs away.

“I don’t know what you think this is about—”

“You’re after the Vulcan, right? Playing innocent, taking advantage of him, you kinky piece of shit.” He tilts his head, his eyes gleaming in a way that reminds Jim of an empty pit.

“S-stay away from me.” He hates the way his voice trembles. “I’m not … I’m not _that_ , you don’t know anything about me, it’s not about him.”

“You can’t even say his name, can you? Really playing up the whole blushing virgin thing, huh?”

“I know you don’t like him, Gary, but—”

“Don’t like him?” Gary cackles. Actually _cackles_ , and Jim knows this man is more dangerous than petty words said out of envy. “I _loathe_ that intergalactic menace! Who does he think he is, all high and mighty? It must be working though, enough to make you choke for his dick.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Oh, but you look so pretty when you’re scared, Jimmy,” Gary leers. “So pretty. And so breakable too. Like a doll.”

“Leave me alone!” Jim snaps and he’s gratified that his voice has stopped shaking, though his legs have taken on the task instead. “Just leave me alone.” He knows his coworker will get some sort of sick satisfaction from watching him cry, so he holds the tears in and bolts to the door, tripping over himself all the way back to his apartment.

Gary, thankfully, doesn’t follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Attempted rape  
> So here's a fun fact after that disaster: Theodore Sturgeon, who wrote "A Saucer of Loneliness", and another short story I love about gay aliens, "The World Well Lost" ALSO WROTE STAR TREK SCREENPLAY, AND HERE'S THE KICKER: WE CAN THANK HIM FOR "AMOK TIME".


	51. Fired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don’t need to hear what he went through to know it’s bad if it made James Tiberius Kirk, Mr. Fuck No Win Scenarios, back down."

Gary doesn’t understand Jim.

He _thought_ they were on the same page, and then Jim did _that_. His nose still hurts, and it’s an awkward thing to explain to his roommate. He wants to apologize, he can’t let bridges with people like Jim be burned, but the blond is doing a good job at avoiding him.

He turns up to work to find Leonard standing behind the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. Gary just _knows_ he’s going to take Jim’s side. It’s the way the doctor and cadet’s relationship works. It doesn’t make any sense to anyone other than them, but they’ve got their own kind of brotherhood going on.

“Morning, Len.”

The doctor’s mouth is drawn into the thinnest line Gary’s ever seen.

“Look—”

“I don’t care what you did.”

_Oh. Well, this is unexpected._

“Well—”

“I don’t believe in bringing personal matters into the workplace.”

“Well, that’s good—”

“You’re fired.”

Gary balks. “Y-you can’t do that!”

“Oh, you’ll be surprised what I can do,” Leonard snaps, his face harsh. “And now that you’re no longer my employee, I’m going to explain to you why it doesn’t matter what you did to Jim.

“I’ve come to know that boy like the back of my hand. He is the most dedicated person I have ever met. He drags himself out of bed every morning at the crack of dawn to go running, instead of sleeping, and lives with caffeine in his veins so he doesn’t miss a moment of class. He’ll fall asleep on his textbooks with a terrible back, and overwork himself so he can pay his rent. He doesn’t back down from things just because they make him uncomfortable, because he always sees the bigger picture. That boy will go through Hell and high water if he thinks it’s what he needs to do what’s right.

“When a man like that tells me he can’t come into work for the shift he _begged_ me for, it doesn’t matter what happened to him. I don’t need to hear what he went through to know it’s bad if it made James Tiberius Kirk, Mr. Fuck No Win Scenarios, back down.

“So do us both a favour Gary, and get the fuck out of my shop before you become my patient.”

Gary doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. He’s willing to work this out, but he knows Jim’ll be avoiding him in his classes, and it’s not like he can casually turn up at his apartment if Leonard’s going to be a guard dog now.

As if to make matters worse, the Vulcan enters at that moment. He looks right through Gary, clearly unable to read the atmosphere.

“Where is Jim?”

“Ask him.”

The freak turns to him, his eyes unblinking. It’s fucking creepy. “Where is Jim?” His tone void of all emotion. It’s the freakiest thing Gary’s ever witnessed. What the fuck does Jim see in him?

Then again, Jim’s always been a bit weird.

“Not here."

“That is evident. Why is Jim not here?”

“Didn’t feel like coming in. Why? Miss your boyfriend?”

“Jim is not …” The freak pauses and closes his eyes for longer than a typical blink. “I shall repeat myself. Why is Jim not here?”

“None of your business!”

“Your refusal to answer my simple question leads me to believe you are hiding something,” says the alien. He looks past Gary at Leonard, then back at Gary. “You have done something to Jim.”

Gary scoffs. “What’s that matter?”

There’s something about the emptiness in the freak’s voice that unnerves him. It’s not calm, it’s just _flat_. There’s nothing behind those dark eyes of his, like he’s an imitation of life, and a poor one at that. He’s vacant, missing something to make him even remotely human. He supposes it’s because he’s _not_ human. It’s disgusting. He wants to make him mad. Something, anything.

He goes in for a swing when everything goes black.


	52. Pinch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I pinched him.”
> 
> “To death?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: in the original draft, this was Spock and Leonard's first meeting.

Leonard stares at the lump on the floor, formerly known as a conscious Gary Mitchell, then glances at the Vulcan.

“The fuck did you do?”

“I pinched him.”

“To death?!”

“He’s incapacitated.”

Leonard stares down at the pile of limbs. He kicks it with his foot, not as gently as he could. “Well, uh, thanks.” It’s not good for someone with his profession to want to injure someone as badly as he does Gary. He was thinking about bringing him to the brink of death, before slowly bringing him back with the most pain-inducing treatments possible.

The Vulcan looks flushed. “I had not intended to intervene in such a manner.”

“Glad you did,” the doctor says. “I’ll just haul him outside, put him on a bench or something. He can find his own way home. How long’s he going to be out like that?”

Spock takes a napkin from the nearest table, and uses it to press his hand against Gary’s neck. “Approximately 3.72 hours.”

Leonard blinks. “That long?”

“Due to my … compromise, I miscalculated the applied force.”

“Sure,” says Leonard cause he doesn’t know what else to say. “Jim’s not in, as you can clearly see. So uh … I don’t know when he’s going to come back.”

Spock blinks slowly. “Understood.”

“His PADD is kind of glitching out, and I mean, I don’t want to point fingers at you or anything, but what the fuck happened during the intervention thing we had all planned out?”

“It did not go as planned.”

“I’d say. I don’t even know if I want you to talk to him to sort things out, or if that’ll make things worse …” Leonard runs his fingers through his hair. This is all just a really big mess, like they’re living in some sort of soap opera, and it’s really tiring on him. “I don’t have time to think about this too much, I’ve got this guy to deal with,” he kicks the limp body of Gary Mitchell. “Just to be sure, you didn’t kill him, right? Cause he feels pretty dead.”

“Unfortunately, Cadet Mitchell will regain consciousness.”

 _Unfortunately?_ Leonard vows to never get on a Vulcan’s bad side. “Right, so I’m just … going to go. Try calling Jim’s number, if you can? I think Monty’s got most of the bugs worked out.”

“Understood.”

With that, the Vulcan salutes and leaves.

Leonard stares down at the former-barista and frowns.

Just what the _fuck_ did he do to Jim?


	53. Transparent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim hates the way his heart flutters. _Bad organ. Bad._

****Jim stares in the mirror at himself.

He’s such a fucking liar.

He’s not like Gary said, he doesn’t want Spock for his body, but he _wants_. So much. It’s consuming him, gnawing at him, driving him insane. He can’t deny that when he looks at the Vulcan, there’s a pull there, that he wants _more_. And that’s stupid, because what can he expect out of being with Spock? Spock who has a _girlfriend_ and who probably doesn’t even think _twice_ about Jim, his friend who blunders and fumbles his way through life.

It’s so _pointless_ , and he knows it is, but like the illogical being he is, he wants it still.

He runs his hand over his face, groaning. Splashing water in his face, he sinks to his knees.

The thing is, he’d accept it. If all he could get was Spock’s body, he’d take it. He’s inexperienced as fuck, doesn’t know what to do, but he’d try. He’d try so damn hard, if that’s what he had to do. He’d do anything to please Spock, and try not to let it show how nervous he was (like he’s good at that, even). But more than that, he just wants Spock close.

He doesn’t need dates and walks on the beach or gazing at the stars and talking about the future.

He just wants to play chess across from the Vulcan and have the liberty to intertwine their fingers across the table. He’d settle for any kind of _touch_ he can get from Spock, anything at all.

He doesn’t want anything dirty. He doesn’t. He wants to be able to call Spock at midnight with his thoughts about horoscopes, as illogical as they are. He wants to learn Vulcan, have Spock embrace himself fully, whether it be his human side, or his Vulcan. He wants those pointy ears to focus on him.

And while it’s stupid how much he wants Spock’s attention, he doesn’t want to make him do anything he doesn’t want. Because if Spock is only okay with Jim standing just a little closer and doesn’t want to hold his hand, he’d do it. In a heartbeat. Anything Spock wants, it's his.

Jim would give him anything he wanted, and ask nothing in return.

Which clearly means Jim’s a fucking idiot who is way in over his head.

There’s a knock on his door.

Scrambling to get to his feet, he slams the bathroom door closed a bit too harshly and yanks open his front door to freeze in his tracks.

“Spock.”

“Jim,” greets the Vulcan.

“What are you doing here?”

“Doctor McCoy has expressed concern for you.” Of course it was Bones. “And …” Here, he pauses. “I confess, I am disturbed by your absence.”

Jim hates the way his heart flutters. _Bad organ. Bad._

“Cadet Mitchell has been relieved of his duties at the coffee shop. If this was the etiology of your condition, it has been remedied.”

“It was nothing,” says Jim, wiping his face. Is it still wet? He’s such a mess lately, he doesn’t know what state he’s in, other than one that is disastrous. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“As there is a vacancy in my schedule, I am currently available to discuss matters with you pertaining to your discomfort.” Spock tilts his head to the side slightly, raising an eyebrow. “You do not appear well, Jim.”

Damn him. Damn him and his adorable Vulcan tendencies. He’s frustrated at everything now, and while he hates being a ball of anger, it's the state he’s in. It’s no one’s fault but his own that he’s thinking irrationally, or _illogically_. The word makes his stomach churn. “I’m adequate, Spock. See? Better than fine.”

“On the contrary, I believe adequate in relation to humans is a sign of clear distress.” He nods to the room. “May I come in?”

“I’m busy right now.”

“This shall only take a moment. May I come inside?”

Damn persistent Vulcans.

Jim moves to the side and makes a grand sweeping gesture, beckoning him inside.

Spock does not sit down. Jim wishes he would. It’s awkward watching him stand with his hands behind his back like he’s not sure what to do with himself. “I understand that my presence in your home is unusual, however I wish to speak to you in concerns to your health. It appears to have been declining. You have not been getting the required hours of sleep. I wish to inquire as to why.”

Jim rubs his temples and takes a seat on the couch. _Seems we’re Freud-ing this thing._ “Lots of things can cause stress, Spock. I’m human, fluctuating health is common for those of us with fragile, fleshy bodies.”

“If there is a source of stress in your life which need not be there, I am amendable to eliminating it.”

“Listen, I don't need anything. I’m all good, alright?”

Spock frowns and it’s adorable and Jim hates it. “I feel that you are experiencing anger towards me, though I do not understand why. If you may please elaborate on what I have done to cause such aggressive behaviour, I will gladly make the appropriate adjustments to my manners.”

“I said _forget it, Spock!_ ”

Spock blinks. “I will not forget it. As a Vulcan, my memory is eidetic, making it impossible for the memory to fade. However, even if this were not the case, I cannot ‘forget it’ as you so simply put it.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Just, it doesn’t matter, you don’t want to hear it, I’m doing this for you, okay? It’s better if you don’t know.” _You don’t want me to get my sappy feelings all over you, you’d probably suffocate in them._

“As it matters to you, I am inclined to disagree with your statement. Seeing as it bothers you, I cannot simply erase the instance from my memory, nor do I believe it is of no importance, as it is clearly of importance to _you_ , Jim. Therefore, I kindly ask that you tell me what it is that has bothered you.”

Jim sighs, running his fingers through his hair. He can’t come up with words, not good ones anyway, to try and avoid what Spock is asking of him. He’ll inevitably draw it out from him, because that’s just what Spock _does_. So, defeated he hangs his head and whispers his confession.

Spock hears it. How can he not, with his Vulcan hearing?

“I … I do not understand.”

“What is there to understand?” Jim asks. It’s very straightforward, very simple.

“I, of course, like you as well, Jim,” says the Vulcan, his ears tinging slightly green. “We are …” Here, he stumbles for an instance, a conflicted look in his eyes. Jim must be torturing himself, that he’s so adamant on looking directly at the one who will break his heart. “We are friends, are we not?”

“Yeah,” Jim says, defeated. “Yeah, we are.”

It’s clear that this is Spock not understanding him, not coming to the same conclusion that a normal human would. It’s fine, he doesn’t know what he expects from Spock anyway. This isn’t like some big reveal of any kind. Bones can see through him, Nyota can see through him, hell, _Gary_ sees through him, as much as he hates to think of it.

Jim sees no need to further the conversation.

“I have to get going, Spock. I’ll talk to you some other time, alright?”

The Vulcan stands still as Jim moves past him, accidentally brushing shoulders.

He can’t make himself care.


	54. The Culprit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone hurt his _thyla_. They will metaphorically pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so my mental health has basically been destroyed, so I'm going to tell you guys now, my updates will stop until about mid-December. I don't have time to write up more chapters to keep up this schedule, I have about 5 papers to write, and 5 exams to take, and I'm going to uni soon, so I can't flop these things. My pre-written chapters have dwindled down especially since I want to change a plot-point I had before, so now there are more chapters that need to be put in between them, but anyway, I'll be back mid-December, beginning of January latest. I just need to get this all sorted out.  
> Just to make you feel a bit better, here's some lyrics from Lovelytheband, because I've recently become OBSESSED with them, they're so good?!!! (I was listening to them while walking my dog under the stars and you know how some ships just have a song? Jim and Spock nearly have a whole Goddamn band.)
> 
>  _You're obsessed with the moon and in love with the stars_  
>  _I'm in love with your soul and everything that you are_  
>  — _Your Whatever_ , Lovelytheband

****Cadet Gary Mitchell, aged 25, former employee of Galaxy Brew, a coffee shop located 6.18 minutes from the Stafleet campus by a foot, and perpetrator of a horrendous, inexcusable crime against one James Tiberius Kirk.

The crime in question? Unknown as of yet, but Spock intends to do a thorough investigation of the matter.

Someone hurt his _thyla_. They will metaphorically pay.

As a practitioner of Surakian principles, it would be illogical to wish an immensely painful death upon the criminal. That is not why Spock believes Gary Mitchell should not die.

Rather, his logic is much simpler.

Premise 1: Gary Mitchell has injured his _thyla_

Conclusion: Death is too good for Gary Mitchell.

His deductive reasoning is sound and absolute. Surak would be proud.

There is no excuse for how Spock felt in the small moment the two of them touched. Despite his deep appreciation for Jim’s mental faculties, and the high intensity of his emotions. The blond’s surface emotions are always within his reach, and it takes a large amount of effort and meditation so as not to disturb the cadet’s privacy, however when they _do_ touch, rare as it is, the severity of the feelings that reach him are always as extreme as though he were about to enter a mind-meld with another.

The amount of disgust and regret, as well as shame and hate that metaphorically flooded over him in waves reminds him of why Vulcans do not swim.

Through some creative manipulation of security measures, Spock knows the following facts concerning the Culprit (Names are given to people. The Culprit gave away his humanity the instant he wronged Jim Kirk).

It (pronouns of any type signify a sense of dignity) is of average standing in classes, with a spike in Calculus, Early Starfleet History, and Interspecies Protocol.

(Spock understands it is against academic integrity policy to meddle with a student’s grades due to personal reasons, and a person’s intelligence is not determined by their character. He makes a good effort regardless attempting to withdraw the 89).

In The Culprit’s three year attendance at Starfleet Academy, It has gotten detention for tardiness twenty-six times, but there is no evidence of misconduct.

He listens when others speak of The Culprit, and Its social group expands beyond Jim and his “study group”, which is confounding to Spock. He does not see the purpose of obtaining further companionship than Jim himself. None of these people are aware of Its true nature.

During a reconnaissance mission, he overhears It speaking to another cadet, Cadet Finnegan O’Brian in the hallway.

“You got any last night?” asks Cadet O’Brian.

“Oh man,” the Culprit whistles. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I didn’t see a condom in the trash, so I’m calling you out, Mitchell!”

“Didn’t use one.”

“Is there some chick running round with your bastard child now?”

“I’m not stupid, but you don’t need protection when you’re going in the other hole.”

The Culprit and Cadet O’Brian stop. “Dude, seriously?”

“Oh hell yeah. It’s great, tight as hell. Definitely recommend.”

Cadet O’Brian laughs. “Ah man, so you finally replaced that stick with your dick? Man, how’d Kirk take it?”

Ah. So this is what blinding rage is. It is a misnomer, for Spock can see everything clearly. So clearly, in fact, that he can see the beads of sweat on The Culprit’s neck. The two notice him for the first time and pause.

“Ah, Professor Spock,” says ~~Cadet O’Brian~~ The Accomplice.

“Gentlemen. You will be late for class if you do not quicken your walking speed.”

“Uh, right,” says The Culprit, moving with his head down past. Spock hears the “freak” comment.

He must ask Jim about this.


	55. Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m going to have to evacuate the planet. Spock probably hates me! I can’t even deal with my human emotions in a logical manner!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NOTE THIS IS LONG BUT IMPORTANT!** I am still on hiatus. I’m posting this because I’ve had a really shitty week and this is one of those chapters that was pre-written that made me smile. I am mostly likely returning to a stable updating schedule come early to mid-January.
> 
> I just wanted to give you guys a mental health update and a heads up about what’s going to be happening to the story from here on out:
> 
> I was able to update twice a week thanks to a backlog of chapters. This happens every now and then with stories when my ADHD takes over and everything I write has to do with a certain fic I’m currently obsessed with. I’m out of that phase now, so writing for it is a bit slow (add to it exams and pressure and general declining mental stability due to seasonal depression, my perfectionist outlook on school, and the fact that I’m applying to universities. Basically all of Jim’s unhealthy studying habits had to come from somewhere).
> 
> For the above-stated reason, when I return, I will be doing once a week updates on Saturday.
> 
> Approximately 75% of the story is published right now, which I’m estimating because this is one of those stories I never _truly_ outlined, which was liberating in its own way, but makes it hard to tie a nice bow on the top of it when you realize you just kept going by making tracks as you went and you’re headed nowhere concrete. This makes estimating the actual number of chapters difficult.
> 
> Furthermore, I have other stories that I haven’t updated in a very long time. While my _Star Trek_ updating schedule seems really nice and solid, my other stories have not had that same attention. For this reason, I will be working on one story at a time from now, after finishing _Latte_ , to work on these incomplete stories. I don’t know how long that’s going to take.
> 
> This doesn’t mean _Star Trek_ one-shots are out of the picture, but multi-chap definitely are until I’ve finished most of my WIPs, because I will _not_ be one of those people who start but never finish a story.
> 
> I do have another multi-chap planned for _Star Trek_ after _Latte_ , which already has its very boring, very short prologue posted. I’ll explain it here because I did a shit job in the actual summary.
> 
> The story, _[mostly void, partially stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16202951/chapters/37868858)_ , is about how, during his first week or so onboard the Enterprise as its Captain, 25 year old James Tiberius Kirk accidentally loses one of his bags out the airlock. It gets picked up by a Vulcan science lab ship, and Spock finds it. Inside the bag are about 20 years worth of letters that Jim wrote from the age of 6 till about 23, addressed to The Man on the Moon. Slowly, Spock begins to fall in love with the writer of the letters, and starts to write some letters back. The title comes from one of my favourite lines from _Welcome to Night Vale._
> 
> Anyway, thank you for being patient with me, and I’ll be returning in mid-January latest!

“Fuck me up.”

Bones, predictably, is confused.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing, just … you’ve got that bourbon, right?”

Jim’s not a drinker, not really. He’s never liked the way alcohol burns his throat, or the loss of control he experiences when he drinks too much, so he’s usually the designated driver. He makes sure Bones doesn’t lose his head on the nights the whole custody battle that’ll be sure to arise from the whole Wife Situation take over his alcohol intake.

“You want to talk about it?”

Does Jim want to talk about it? Fuck no, why else is he here, asking for his liver’s enemy?

“Sometimes it helps to talk about it,” says the med student, and he’s doing that psychiatrist thing that the blond hates.

“Talking about it doesn’t change anything.”

“Might make you feel better.”

“Maybe I don’t want to feel better. Maybe I want to drink you under the table.”

Bones scoffs. “You wish.”

“Well, let’s just see, huh?”

And it’s a bad idea, Jim _knows_ it’s a bad idea, but he takes the bottle Bones offers him, pops the lid off, and gulps half the bottle in one go. He instantly regrets it, but doesn’t stop. He _knows_ this sort of thing doesn’t work, the many nights of the Southern’s drunken ass screaming to the moon about how shitty his life is should be proof enough, but any placebo remedy is good for him, so long as he can stop thinking about that Goddamn Vulcan.

Eventually, Jim is a puddle on Bones’ couch, an octopus with too many tentacles to figure out how to grip the fabric properly. He’s getting loopy, the ceiling fan is suddenly very amusing, and the moon isn’t dramatically full like it should be when he’s having a moping fest. He can still remember his calculus notes, which means he isn’t quite drunk enough, so he goes for another shot when Bones stops him.

“I think I’m going to cut you off.”

“Huh? Said by _you_?” Jim laughs. It’s not funny, but he can either laugh or cry, and he’ll do anything to keep the pinpricks of pain behind his eyelids at bay. “Give it here!” He grabs at the doctor’s wrist, who pulls away from him with such force, Jim falls onto the ground. “You’re a terrible host.”

“How am _I_ the sober one?”

“It’s a day of opposites, ain’t it?” Jim chuckles, turning onto his back. “The world’s gone mad.” He runs his hand over his face and breathes in deeply. If he stays still for too long, the thoughts come back, so he stumbles to his feet and tries the balcony door. It’s not even a real balcony really, barely even five feet wide and going out only two feet, it feels like a solitary confinement cell with a breeze. He laughs, because it’s funny and hey, what if he sat on the railing?

“Jim, no!”

Bones is wrestling him to the ground and now he’s on the floor with Bones on top of him, frowning.

Jim laughs. “You’re gonna get wrinkles like that!”

“I already have some, no thanks to you, kid,” says Bones, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “Get your shit together.”

“Hey, Bones? Bonesy? C’mon here,” Jim says, an idea popping into his head which he _knows_ is terrible and bad, but he’s doing it anyway because fuck everything, he still can’t forget the obsidian colour of Spock’s eyes and that spells more trouble than what he’s about to do. He wraps an arm around Bones’ neck and pulls him down onto him, playing with his stubble. “Kiss me?”

“The fuck is wrong with you, Jim?”

“Am I not kissable?”

“That’s not what this is about—”

“THE FUCK IT IS!”

Bones sits up and Jim does too and _wow the world is spinning a lot and shit his head hurts_. “Sorry.” He giggles. “Sorry, don’t be mad, Bonesy Wonesy. Doctor … Doctor Bones … Boner … heh …” He’s rambling and the moon looks really big for some reason and so do the stars and if he just reaches out, he’s pretty sure he can touch them. Capture them. “I don’t belong here,” he hiccups. “I’m going to have to evacuate the planet. Spock probably hates me! I can’t even deal with my human emotions in a logical manner!”

Bones sighs, and begins arranging Jim into a proper sitting position against the side of the balcony wall, like he’s positioning a rag doll.

Gary called him a doll. Said he was breakable. Apparently, he was right. Is he only attractive to assholes like Gary?

“You’re lucky Bones, you’re smart. Like _super_ smart. Like, you’d turn on a Vulcan by talking about the symbiotic process of evolution or whatever the fuck that means. Then again, you’d be smart enough not to be so _dumb_ as to fall in love with a perfect man from outer space!”

Bones sighs. “You know, I’ve done the stupid falling in love shit before, kid. It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Tell me about it! No wonder you’re cynical as all hell!” Jim laughs, leaning his head back. It hits the railing of the balcony a little too forcefully and he groans in acknowledgment of the pain. Well, at least he’s not numb.

“You know, it’s not illogical to get drunk,” says Bones. “Sometimes the most logical thing a human can do is be illogical.”

Jim stares.

The world seems to stop spinning for a moment. His neurons are firing quickly, going for synapse to synapse because he feels like this something super important, like it’s an oddly deep sentence coming from the Southern doctor.

Right before his brain cells can put it together, he belches.

Bones laughs, and it’s weird to see such a grumpy man laugh. Jim always feels good when he knows he can bring some relief to the man’s life. He turns to face the moon and frowns. “Does screaming at the Man on the Moon really help?”

“You still believe that sort of thing?”

“I mean, if I’m gonna visit the moon one day, I don’t want him to hold some drunken venting session against me. I’m more elegance when I’m sober.”

“That you are, Jim. That you are.” Bones takes a seat next to him and the two of them look up at the moon. “You going to be okay?”

“Okay is similar to fine, having many variables, thus making it an inefficient indicator. Okay is unacceptable.”

The doctor sighs. “You just quoted the hobgoblin, didn’t you?”

“Yup,” says the cadet, popping the p. “Love’s a bitch.”

“That it is.”

Jim turns to his friend of many years. He’s kind of amazed he’s stuck around so long, with all the shit he’s dragged him into. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Being my friend. Even when I do dumb shit.”

“I’m your friend _because_ you do dumb shit,” says Bones. “I’m going to get you some water, and you’re going to drink it. You’ll thank me for it later.” He starts to get up, groaning about his aching bones, and Jim laughs at him, kicking at his heels.

When he comes back, he hands a glass to Jim, who drinks it. Licking his lips, he frowns. “I know Spock doesn’t hate me. I’m blowing things out of proportion, this whole thing is just a fucking mess and … it's not like he doesn’t like me, it’s just … he called me his friend and I just … _couldn’t,_ which feels so _stupid_ , you know?”

“Jim?”

“Yeah, Bones?”

“I’m saying this off the record, as a totally straight man, but you are totally kissable.”

“That was _so_ gay, Bones.”

“You gonna fight me, Kirk?”

“Some other time.”

Jim’s right, talking about it doesn’t make the problem go away, doesn’t make anything better, but when he wakes up with a hangover and Bones silently handing him a few pills, the drinking thing wasn’t a total loss. 


	56. Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Tiberius Kirk, Leonard learns, is a chaotic drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finished it. This story is OFFICIALLY finished. And now I've got to edit it, but I can post chapters now! I'm really glad, it was super fun to write, and it spiralled totally out of control, but in like, one of the best ways?  
> I've made a list of what stories I'll be working on in the new year, and found that of my 17 unfinished stories (which includes Latte, even though I've technically finished it), there are 9 fics I want to work on that know where they're going. So I'm going to be doing that, as I said I would. I can technically go back to bi-weekly updates, but I won't because I want to edit these last few chapters properly before I go back and edit the whole thing.  
> I'm so glad you guys liked my first dive into the Star Trek fandom, and I do want to write more for you guys, as I mentioned, my other story, "mostly void, partially stars" is on the block for a story I want to write, but I first want to finish a few of my stories that are mostly done and I've been really lazy at finishing, so I'll be moving towards those first. I don't know how long that's going to take, but once it's done, I will be writing "mostly void, partially stars", but as mentioned before, I'll probably post a few one-shots between my bigger works, so there it is. My writing schedule for 2019.  
> Updates for this story will be on Fridays, so ... yeah.  
> I hope you guys will like the ending, once you get to it. Just 15 more chapters!

In all the years Leonard McCoy has known Jim, the blond has never once gotten drunk, and it is not for a lack of trying on the doctor’s part.

Not long into their acquaintance, it became apparent that Leonard had a tendency to drink and overshare. Usually it was lamentations about his failing marriage, or how much stress he was under as a medical doctor who was trying to get approved for space, but as he got to know Jim Kirk more and more, it became about how reckless the man could be. Putting such an unpredictable force into the unpredictable hands of the cosmos was a recipe for disaster as far as Leonard was concerned.

Jim drinks, but only under very specific conditions, such as: it is not a school night (which leaves Saturday because his brain is weird), he does not have a test coming up and he is not in Midterm Mode (which, once begun, never ends). He can only have one shot a night, and then he cradles a water bottle he himself brought to the dingy bar to cradle for the rest of the night, or if he decides on a normal drink, they must be spaced out so that he can return to his apartment as sober as possible, and all communication devices must be taken away from him should he be intoxicated. 

Leonard loves the man like he’s his long-lost brother, but he is the _worst_ drinking partner. There’s smart drinking, and then there’s drinking like you’re allergic to alcohol.

It is for this reason that he was predictably worried when Mr. Straight Man turned up at his door, demanding to get plastered.

James Tiberius Kirk, Leonard learns, is a chaotic drunk. 

He loses his sense of self, can’t finish sentences, says stupid shit, and forgets where he is. That is to say, a drunk Jim Kirk is a sober Kirk who has suddenly acquired violent tendencies if the way he declared the heads of passing pedestrians to be cups for a game of beer pong was anything to go by. Leonard stopped him before he could do more than injure his thumb on a broken beer bottle, rather than the innocent civilians. 

He’s never seen Jim in such a terrible state.

The hobgoblin’s really fucking Jim up, and the thing is, Leonard doubts he even knows. There’s no other explanation other than the Vulcan for the whole “seduction” attempt.

Leonard doesn’t understand though, because it really _seemed_ like the professor liked his friend back, so he’s not sure what’s going on.

It’s nice to be the one without a hangover in the morning though, and he’s there as Jim pukes into the toilet and moans about how _Bones you can’t ever let me do this kind of shit again, I think I permanently damaged my liver._

He tries to talk Jim out of going to class, he doesn’t want his friend to have to face Mr. Pointy Ears if he can barely listen to his PADD’s notifications, but James T Stubborn Asshole Kirk (the Stubborn Asshole is silent) just can’t allow himself to tarnish his nearly perfect attendance record, so he sighs and lets him go, like a mother watching their kid pack up a second lunch so the bully at school won’t shove them in a locker.

He’s going to have to have some serious words with Spock the next time he sees him.


	57. Close Acquaintances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You’re not so bad, Hobgoblin.”
> 
> “Nor you, Human.”

Despite Spock’s extensive knowledge of Suus Mahna, it is an illogical method to use against Cadet Gary Mitchell (herein after referred to as The One Who Disrespected James Tiberius Kirk in an Unforgivable Manner, and Shall Forever Repent For His Terrible Misdeeds Until He Cease Breathing Using His Inferior Mortal Lungs, shortened as The Unworthy).

This is because Suus Mahna is a form of self-defence that is not meant to be utilized in a violent manner, and as such, is ineffective at procuring the results most desired from any future exchange between Spock and The Unworthy.

As such, Spock must seek alternative solutions.

The Unworthy has already admitted to its crime publicly, however as The Unworthy is known to be deceitful, it is best to acquire “first-hand” information from the source, as the human saying goes.

This proves to be rather difficult, given that the subject in question, James Tiberius Kirk, is showing signs of fatigue, dry mouth, headache, and an increased sensitivity to light and sound, due to an overindulgence in hydroxyl functional groups bound to carbon and ethyl alcohol.

In layman terms, he is suffering from a hangover.

There is also the matter that _homo sapiens_ , while agreeable when indulging in certain conversations relating to their coital engagements, are quite private in other matters. 

When the bell dismisses the students, Spock rises to go over to Jim, however he is blocked by Leonard McCoy.

“I want to have a word with you.”

Spock blinks. “You have had many words.”

“Now’s not the time to be a smartass.”

“I do not understand how intellectual properties may be attributed to the posterior—”

“Okay, just shut up! Shut your stupid Vulcan mouth, alright? And just, just _don’t_ , not until I’m done.” The Southern drawl becomes a prominent feature of his accent. “I’ve got some questions for you. What the fuck did you do to Jim?”

Spock’s brows furrow. “Clarify.”

“The kid’s adverse to alcohol, hates it, especially near exams, or on weekdays, so when he just turns up at my apartment _begging_ to get plastered, something’s fucked him up, and my best bet is that it was you.”

“I noted that Jim showed symptoms of a previous intoxication. I suspect, as a doctor, you looked after him appropriately, Doctor McCoy?”

“I told him not to go to class, but that stupid old bastard was all about keeping his record straight.” The man’s mouth twists upwards slightly, as though he is attempting to smile. “What happened the last time you spoke with him? Because he’s claiming he’s gotta leave the fucking _planet_ to get away from you.”

“I did not intend to make him feel uncomfortable.”

“Yeah well, great job.”

The Vulcan tilts his head. “You are employing the use of sarcasm—”

“Of course I’m being fucking sarcastic! What did you do to him?”

“I went to his place of residence to inquire about his health, as it has been declining as of late. He was not satisfied to see me, and requested I depart, which I did.”

The doctor stares at him for a moment. His human brain is attempting to understand Spock’s words. Jim’s superior intellect and capacity to understand the complex nuance of his vernacular is even more evident when juxtaposed to the Southern medical student.

“No, it can’t just be that. He’s always glad to see you.” The dark haired student allows his phalanges to move his hair follicles in numerous directions. 

“You are irritated.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

“As I am not of the rank of Captain, nor is my name—”

“It’s an expression.” Leonard McCoy takes a seat at Spock’s desk without permission. Spock has been learning in the past few months that sometimes it is best to allow humans to be their illogical selves.

“Is something the matter beyond Jim’s request to depart Terran soil?”

The human grits his teeth. “I can’t believe he’s just walking around the school.” The amount of anger that is being projected loudly indicates that _he_ is not said in reference to Jim. “I don’t even know what that bastard did, but I know I want him dead.”

“Death is too good for The Unworthy.”

The man looks at him oddly.

“I am, of course, referring to Cadet Gary Mitchell.”

“Of course.”

There is silence.

“While you are present, I have an inquiry for you, concerning human vernacular,” says Spock. He does not go to the doctor for many things. He does not go to the doctor for _anything_. Not when he has Jim. But as Jim is suffering from a “hangover”, it would not be prudent to ask such a question to the blond.

“I overheard The Unworthy speaking with The Accomplice, Cadet Finnegan O’Brian,” he says when the doctor gives him a strange look. “What do the words ‘get any’ mean in human slang?”

“He said that?”

“Affirmative. I am uncertain as to what he was implying, however there appeared to be an— Doctor McCoy, where are you going?”

“To wrap my fingers around the slimy bastard’s neck, that’s where!”

“That would be ill-advised,” says Spock, reaching out a hand to the human’s neck.

“What? Are you gonna nerve pinch me too?”

“If it is necessary.”

McCoy is looking at him with an expression Spock believes is best described as a glare. “Don’t you want to make him suffer?”

“There are more creative ways to inflict pain than brute force.”

The doctor raises an eyebrow. “You’re a crafty little bitch, aren’t you?” Placing his feet on the top of the desk, he leans back in Spock’s chair. “Alright. What nefarious plan have you got cooking?”

As the two of them discuss potential courses of action that do not conflict with the “Do No Harm” oath, but satisfy the rage which boils beneath both their skins like the suns of Vulcan, they decide no action can truly be taken until Jim tells them what occurred.

“This er … this was good.” He nods his head sharply. “Yeah. Good. Uh, you’re not so bad, Hobgoblin.”

“Nor you, Human.”

He blinks, then laughs. It is not as pleasant as Jim’s laughter, however there is certainly something very _human_ about it. He is reminded of Mother’s grace and beauty.

Humans truly are fascinating, even ones that do not shine like suns of his home planet .


	58. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Spock fell in love with James Tiberius Kirk, he fell in love with humanity.

Jim is a little more skittish than usual. He’s on edge, though Nyota isn’t quite sure why. She’s heard there’s been a change of staff at Galaxy Brew, and she’s considering applying for the job. She could always use the money. And it would be nice to check out the competition.

She remembers all too clearly the look on Kirk— no, _Jim’s_ face when she asked him what he planned on doing about his feelings. He had looked so resigned, so contrary to the person she had come to know in the past few months.

She always knew Jim had more of a chance than he thought. To know just _how_ much is still shocking to her. 

_T'hyla ._

Spock said no. She can respect that, she’s had her fair share of admirers who think “no” means “yes” and “stop” means “try harder”. Yet to lay it all to rest, after crying into his shirt like the emotional human she was, she had to ask.

_“Why him?”_

Though the Vulcan will never admit it, Nyota knew the particular angle of elevation of his eyebrows was one of confusion. It was not, however, an eyebrow which asked “What are you referring to?”, it was an eyebrow which meant “I have never considered _why_ it would be him, and have only ever understood it to be nothing _but_ him”, which is an awfully human-like string of feeble logic. She didn’t comment on it.

Eventually, he had answered.

_“His mind.”_

She understands that Vulcans are very intellectual creatures and consider brains to be one of the most defining and important features of a mate, but this is a little odd. As a psi-null being, Jim and Spock cannot engage in mind-to-mind contact sans mind-meld, which she is quite sure has never happened.

_“Though I shield, as is expected of Vulcans, especially in the presence of humans, Jim’s thoughts are much louder than most, and get around my defences._

_“Jim’s mind is exquisite. His thoughts and emotions have great depth to them, and the intensity at which he experiences life is unlike anything I have ever witnessed before. His soul speaks so loudly, it is always slightly pressing against my shields. It is beautiful._

_“Had his mind belonged to anyone else, I would have been fascinated. It is because it is Jim that I have stayed.”_

Nyota wonders if he realized at any point during his little speech that he used words like “beautiful” and “exquisite”. She doubts Spock knows the depth of his feelings. If he did, it would probably scare him.

She watches Jim Kirk now, and realizes that it was always him.

There is something about him that draws you in. It’s a quiet kind of beauty, a loneliness that eats away at the soul. He’s a candle in the window of an abandoned house, inviting you in to see all its secret treasures, guiding you to find your way in the dark, even if it makes the wax melt faster. He’s nice to _everyone_ , or at the very least, polite, with a patience Nyota can’t even fathom. He sits with his head held high, but without arrogance. A quiet voice reminding you _I’m here, if you choose to notice me._

There’s something intrinsically lovely about James Tiberius Kirk.

He is so _good._ He is  _why_ Starfleet was created. For people like him.

For those who want to watch the stars streak across the sky, and sing lullabies to the moon. For those who wish to sit back and stare as extraterrestrial lifeforms go about their daily business, sitting on their hands, not touching, just watching, _learning_. For the ones who defy gravity just to see the world from above, never to lay a footprint on unmapped soil, never to say “I’ve been there”.

And yet despite all that, despite that cookie-cutter, go-getter attitude that most would be mocked for, he is so very _human_. He is the best of humanity, struggling, striving, always aspiring to greater lengths and go beyond.

The pain and anguish of his internal struggles are plain on his face, and yet he smiles so brightly, it’s breathtaking. He’s an open book of honesty and curiosity, of persistence and stubborn hubris. Each step he takes is cautious, like he’s on the edge of a cliff, but he runs like he can fly. You can see it all in his skin, his eyes, his struggle and his successes and his aspirations for the future, so hopeful and yet so nervous and unsure.

When Spock fell in love with James Tiberius Kirk, he fell in love with humanity.

Nyota sees that now.

She can’t blame him. There’s a part of her that’s half-in-love with Jim Kirk too .


	59. Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blond lets out a hoarse chuckle that’s meant to be somewhere between _you’ve just torn my word apart_ and _you just gave me a stupid amount of hope, bastard_ , but equal parts _what the fuck?_

Jim isn’t quite sure what he’s done, but Nyota’s been looking at him like he shot her grandmother.

They were doing pretty well, weren’t they? Sure, he’s been avoiding her since learning her new status as Spock’s significant other, but he’s been civil. He can’t blame her for her actions, and it’s not like he said anything.

With everything that’s happened lately, with Gary, and Spock, and Nyota, he just doesn’t have time for this, so he stays after class one day and blurts “Can you please tell your girlfriend to stop giving me death glares?!”

“Girlfriend?” Spock echoes.

“I told her I wasn’t going to do anything, and I haven’t, I _won’t_ , because obviously I wouldn’t, why would I? When you’ve got her, why would you need …” He hates this. He hates this _so much_. He’s over it. He swears, he is, but he’s never been a good liar, especially to himself and he can’t do this, not when Spock’s made his feelings, or lack thereof, very clear. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not a threat. You know that, she knows that, so can you just tell her to back off?”

Spock’s brows furrow. “I do not have a girlfriend.”

Jim’s got work soon, and they’re still looking for a new employee to replace G— to replace _him_. “Your significant other? The one who sparks your interest? The er, bird with the rocking bod?”

Everything about the Vulcan’s facial expression says Jim’s used _way_ too many metaphors.

“Nyota?” 

“Cadet Uhura?”

_Cadet Uhura?_ That sure as heck doesn’t sound the way you’d refer to the one you’re dating, but maybe Spock’s keeping it professional. He _is_ on the job right now, and technically Nyota _is_ his student, which makes everything a little unethical … 

“Look, it’s okay. I know. I mean, it’s hard to know, since Vulcans and your whole … conservative way of dealing with … it. It’s a private thing, not a public, I get that. Hell, I don’t like PDA— ah, this made more sense in my head.”

“You say you are not a threat. What do you mean?”

Damn Spock and his cold, unblinking eyes that somehow fuck over Jim’s brain cells so well. “I … it was nothing. Well, it _was_ something, but it doesn’t really matter right now. Just … I dunno, she thought I’d get in the way of … you know.”

“I do not.”

Jim gestures with his hands, clumsy and disorganized and lacking in energy. Why must he drag this out? He _knows_ he’s not doing it on purpose, Spock has no idea what he’s doing to Jim’s poorly beating heart. “She thought I’d disturb you guys. You and her. Together. Romantically. She thought … it was stupid, but she thought I was like, going to steal you from her.”

“I am not hers,” says Spock stiffly. “I am not a possession.”

“No, I know that, it’s an expression.” The blond runs his fingers through his hair. “I er, know she confessed.”

“If you are referring to Cadet Uhura informing me of her feelings, you are correct.”

“Right. And that … that went well, so—”

“Negative.”

Jim stares.

Spock interrupted him. Spock _never_ interrupts him. The Vulcan always lets him gather his thoughts, no matter how jumbled and fragmented they are. Doesn’t matter if it takes Jim a minute to say something he should’ve said in five seconds, Spock always waits for him to finish, and in return, Jim has never interrupted him either.

“What?”

“It did not go ‘well’, as you say,” says Spock with something in his voice Jim can’t identify. “I declined her affections.”

“S’cuse me?”

“You are excused.”

The blond lets out a hoarse chuckle that’s meant to be somewhere between _you’ve just torn my word apart_ and _you just gave me a stupid amount of hope, bastard_ , but equal parts _what the fuck?_

“I don’t … I don’t understand.”

“Cadet Uhura was indeed correct in assuming you to be a ‘threat’.”

Little Jimmy Kirk from Iowa, a threat compared to the beauty and grace and _intelligence_ of Nyota Uhura? This sounds like some kind of joke.

“I … help me out here, Spock. I have a feeble human brain.”

“On the contrary, your brain is in no way inferior. It is superior to most _homo sapiens_.”

“I just … you’re telling me you’re _not_ with Nyota?”

“Affirmative.”

“Spock,” says Jim cautiously, “it … are you trying to tell me you _like me_?”

“I …” Spock’s eyebrows crease together.

_Ah. Welcome back to reality, Jimbo,_ he can practically hear _his_ voice leering. _You’re just Jim, the naive kiddo who made wishes on every shooting star that it would land safely wherever it was. You and someone like Spock? Don’t make me laugh._

“I feel a certain … affection, towards you.” He looks pained.

“Don’t make yourself say something for my sake,” the blond assures him. “I can take rejection.” _Liar, liar, liar._

“Vulcans cannot lie,” says Spock. He stands up straighter, his hands clasping together firmly. “Due to my mixed heritage, I am, as the humans call it, ‘emotionally stunted’. Articulating the few feelings I cannot repress is seen as weakness in the eyes of Surak.

“The subtlety of my emotions indicates my Vulcan features have taken precedent to my human ones. Ordinarily, I would find this satisfactory, however as it has made you discontent I must object to it. Though I had intended to make this declaration at a later date, under the assumption it would merely be verbal confirmation of universal facts I made the ungrounded hypothesis you already knew of, I shall state it plainly now:

“James Tiberius Kirk, I admire you greatly and hold the deepest affection towards you.”


	60. The Right Term

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Tee-high-la_?” Jim shakes his head. “I’m butchering it. You’ve basically just confessed your love and I just butchered your language."

This is not going the way Spock anticipated.

“You are crying. Have I done something wrong?”

Jim touches his face. His fingers are wet. When he laughs, it does not sound genuine and causes a twinge of pain in Spock’s lower abdominal cavity, the area which Starfleet textbooks assign as containing the Vulcan heart.

“Are you … are you making some kind of joke?”

“Negative. If I have misunderstood the situation—”

“No, no misunderstanding— oh shit! I just cut you off! Dammit, emotional me is an asshole.” Though he is seeing new “sides” of Jim, all of which fascinate him deeply, he would prefer to avoid the ones which cause him emotional distress. 

“It is unimportant.”

It is not unusual for humans to become impatient and hinder others from finishing sentences. It is commendable he has known Jim for the duration of time he has without such an event occurring.

“Just … give me a second.” Jim has a terrible habit of biting his lip until it bleeds. “What … what brought this on? I mean, it’s _amazing,_ don’t get me wrong, but where did this come from?”

“You are _t'hyla_.” Words do not carry physical weight, however Spock senses a metaphorical pressure has been taken off his chest.

“Right. _Tee-high-la_?” Jim shakes his head. “I’m butchering it. You’ve basically just confessed your love and I just butchered your language … fuck, okay, um, scratch that. Who said anything about love? Not me. Not you. It’s totally not a love thing. Could totally still be a platonic bro thing. How about I shut the fuck up and you tell me what it means?”

“There is no accurate translation in Standard,” Spock admits. “It is … rather complicated to explain, however I believe the most appropriate words are friend, brother, and lover.”

“Oh.” 

Jim is sad. Why is Jim sad?

“Like soulmates? Do you like, er, feel obligated to like me because we’ve got this … _thigh-lah_ thing going on?”

“ _T'hyla_ ,” Spock corrects.

“Right. That. Sorry, am I being culturally insensitive?”

“Negative.” The Vulcan calculates his next words very carefully. “As a touch-telepath, I am constantly shielding to maintain privacy between others. When in your presence, my barriers are not as affective. As your mind projects at a louder frequency, your emotions ‘leak’, as you would say, into my subconscious often.”

“Oh my God, I’ve been emotionally raping you?!”

“Negative. While I apologize for the infringement of your privacy this entails, allow me to confess that you possess a beautiful mind. Our bond is new, and only partially formed. It is possible to have it severed by a healer, if you so desire. While _t'hyla_ bonds are rare, they need not be romantic in nature. They do not dictate the relationship one has with the other involved in the bond, so much as it displays the inherent potential.

“I would …” Here, he stumbles. Jim has heard quite a lot and is having trouble acclimatizing, but Spock senses he must say this, so he collects himself so as to ensure he does not waver, and continues onwards. “I would like to investigate the potential for a bond of a romantic nature with you, if you are amendable.”

“Fuck yes, am I amendable!” Jim closes his eyes and breathes deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Give me a moment. I’ll be less of a disaster.”

“I find your ‘disastrous’ nature to be endearing, and would urge you do not change it.”

Jim’s eyes open. Blue irises meet his. “You have to stop talking like that, or I’m going to kiss you.”

Spock tilts his head. “Is that not what people involved in romantic relationships do?”

“Well, yes, but, Christ, I … I can’t, not right now. I’m not … well, firstly I’m a complete wreck right now, and I just … I know you’re really good, I do, but I kinda don’t want to touch you— wait, that sounded wrong! 

“It’s just that … something happened recently and I’m not … I don’t …” Jim takes a step back. Spock resists moving forward. “Just give me some time, okay? About the whole like, physical stuff? I’m totally down for the relationship thing. 10/10, would _tee-hi-yah_ again. I think.” He frowns. “I’m not using that word right, am I?”

“Affirmative.”

“But we’re good, yeah?”

Spock can wait.

Vulcans value patience after all.

“Affirmative.”


	61. Impasse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Tiberius Kirk is a tactile man. Or, he _was_.

“Hey … do you know who Descartes is?”

“I am aware of René Descartes, yes.”

“Oh.”

“Your inflection indicates you believed I was unaware of the French philosopher.”

“He’s just … old-school, you know? Well, not exactly. He’s almost a millennia old at this point … But also, I think it’s just because you’re Vulcan, so I thought Terran philosophy … it’s a bit boring, isn’t it? We don’t have like, great theories about any one other than like, one god, and all that, and we don’t take other universes or worlds into account either …” Jim shrugs. “I dunno.”

“René Descartes is considered the first modern philosopher.”

“Even though Francis Bacon was writing stuff first, _and_ people believe he was influenced by Bacon, but you know. _Cogito, ergo sum_ , and all that.” The blond fidgets across from the Vulcan in the two-person seat of Galaxy Brew. “Er, he just … he annoys me.”

“He is deceased.”

“Well, yeah, but I just …” Jim repositions himself in his chair. “Okay, so this guy, this sickly, bedridden Frenchman, wakes up one morning and he’s like ‘hmm, gonna figure out the secrets of the universe today, got nothing better to do’, right? 

“So he starts by doubting absolutely everything that he knows via sensory experience because he might be dreaming, so he thinks the only truths are those revealed to us by reason, but then he thinks there’s an evil demon who is tricking him into believing everything he _thinks_ he knows like 1 +1 is 2, so he doesn’t believe any of that either.

“Finally he settles on deciding he exists, and he can only confirm _his_ existence, no one else’s, and only so long as he’s thinking about whether or not he exists, because thinking ‘I don’t exist’ is like saying ‘I’m absent’ when someone does role-call, it’s self-defeating, yeah? But he doesn’t believe he has a body.

“I mean, that’s cool, but then he tries to prove God’s real. It’s like, the _worst_ argument ever. He was so promising and then everything else falls into place once he ‘proves’ God is real. 

“Like some guy who made the Cartesian plane could just solve and prove God’s existence when thousands of monks and other religious scholars haven’t since the very _idea_ of religion came into creation? And he uses deductive reasoning, which he hasn’t even proved is real.”

It is oddly comforting that despite the new word that metaphorically hangs in the air between them, Jim still feels comfortable speaking of trivial matters such as a one-sided philosophical debate.

Spock stirs his Chai tea. They have not technically named the thing between the two of them, and they have not gone on any “dates”, as is supposedly custom of those engaged in a romantic relationship, however he does not mind.

He prefers these stimulating conversations to meaningless discussions concerning the weather.

He does wish to discuss the matter that makes Jim wary of physical contact. This is not to say he requires physical connections in order to be assured of Jim’s affections. He senses the young man’s feelings, his mind constantly brushing up against Spock’s shields. He is unaware of how he would handle a physical relationship with the man, given his overwhelming emotions, but this wariness is affecting the Jim in ways beyond his relationship with Spock.

James Tiberius Kirk is a tactile man. Or, he _was_.

It is not only Spock who Jim is hesitant to touch. Casual skin on skin contact with his best friend, Doctor McCoy, is also lacking. He flinches when people move quickly. Something has happened.

If his hypothesis is correct, the hesitance is directly correlated to Cadet Gary Mitchell.

They have filled out papers for the correct course of action, but it does not feel right. It does not feel like enough. There is more. There _must_ be more they can do. Because legal disputes and words written on paper feel like the very _least_ that can be done.

Jim continues speaking about other philosophers from Earth. Locke, Nietzsche, Mills, Kant. He has his points, his opinions, and the Vulcan offers his perspective on several, including Nietzsche’s highly hypocritical actions as an anti-realist, but most importantly, Spock is wondering how someone could ever hurt such a beautiful human.

For the first time, he finds himself literally sitting on his hands to prevent himself from reaching out to touch the beautiful star that is James Tiberius Kirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be honest. This chapter is so I can brag about my knowledge of philosophy.


	62. Shovel Speech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Call me Leonard. Wait, don’t. That’d be weird."

Leonard wonders if the amount of emotion Spock is currently displaying would be grounds for incarceration on Vulcan. It’s subtle by human standards, but given how reserved Vulcans are, his raised eyebrows and bitten lower lip to prevent himself from smiling is as good as a love confession. It’s almost sickening.

Almost.

Jim’s a good kid.

He deserves nice things.

That doesn’t mean Leonard McCoy isn’t going to have a stern talk with a certain Spock.

“We need to have a talk.”

“Doctor McCoy, I—”

“Call me Leonard. Wait, don’t. That’d be weird. Look, just … walk with me. Talk with me.”

The way the Vulcan follows him as he makes his way into the street reminds him of a dog. “So, you and Jim are a thing now. I don’t like you. I don’t not like you either.”

“What you are saying does not make any sense.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I believe I just did.”

Despite himself, Leonard snorts. “Jim’s right, you _are_ funny. I don’t hate you. We understand each other, yeah? To a certain degree.” To the degree of wanting to punch Gary Mitchell out of a window, yes. He’s training Nyota to take over for Gary, but he can’t stop beating himself up over it. He knew the older cadet was a dick, just not _that_ much of a dick— _now’s not the time to linger on those thoughts_.

“You and Jim, you’re a thing now.”

“Jim and I have always been a ‘thing’ as you say.”

“Right, but you’re like, a romantic thing now,” says Leonard. “And don’t look so alarmed, though I can barely tell with your minute facial expressions, it’s obvious. To me, at least. I’m not super psyched about it, but I’ll tolerate you.”

Spock blinks. “Do you have amorous feelings towards Jim?”

“What? No! Spock, where did you even get that idea from?” Leonard shakes his head. “Jim and I, we’re friends. He’s like my brother. My really, _really_ , annoying little brother.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he kicks a pebble on the ground. “The thing is, Jim’s … delicate. As in, he gets lost in his head a lot and it’s a pain in the ass to pull him out. It’s doable, but really hard. He’ll tell you he’s fine, even when he’s not. When Jim likes someone, he likes them a lot. He’s gonna get worried, think you don’t like him as much as he likes you, and then he’ll just kind of … accept it, cause he thinks it’s a miracle you’re with him.”

Eyebrows crease ever so slightly. “On the contrary, I view it to be the opposite. Though I do not believe in such things as spontaneous phenomena, he almost makes me change my mind.”

“You’re going to have to tell him those things. A lot. He’s insecure, to an unhealthy degree. And he's going to pretend he isn’t, cause he doesn’t want to be needy, or some shit like that. He overthinks things, and _knows_ he’s overthinking them so he doesn’t want to bother others with his trivial thoughts.

“He won’t push boundaries, he’s too Goddamn polite, but he’s really invested. Really passionate. And he gets hurt because of it.” Running his fingers through his hair, he throws his hesitance out the window. “What I’m trying to say is if you fuck Jim up, I’ll fuck _you_ up.”

“That is evident.”

_Huh?_

“I am willing to set aside our differences for Jim’s sake, and we are not completely opposing in our viewpoints. We both care deeply about Jim. Forcing Jim to choose between myself and you would be unfair to him, and detrimental to our relationship.”

Leonard frowns. “You don’t … what do you mean ‘detrimental’?”

“I believe such a question of preference would yield an unfortunate result on my part.”

“You don’t think he’d choose you?”

“I believe such a line of questioning would cause Jim great distress, and disturb the calm state of mind he currently has. Furthermore, I do not find forcing ultimatums between two significant people in one’s life to be a complementing quality. As I do not hold any resentment towards you, I do not see the benefit of such a course of action.” Spock opens his mouth and pauses just slightly before continuing. “Lastly, you are wrong. I know, factually, he will not choose me.”

Leonard’s brows furrow. “Are you … do you not know … when I talk, how much do you tune me out?”

“I am unfamiliar with the human metaphor you are employing—”

“Jim’s _crazy_ about you,” Leonard cuts him off. “I mean, he really, _really_ likes you. You don’t have to worry about him losing interest. I just … I mean, I’m only concerned he’s getting … Clearly, my worries were unfounded. You’re just as stupid over him as he is over you!”

Spock frowns. “My intellect is—”

“It’s an expression.”

Leonard laughs, ignoring the strange look the Vulcan is giving him.

Turns out Jim and the hobgoblin were practically meant for each other.

“Just … treat him right, alright?”

“I … yes.”

Leonard knows he will.


	63. Trowel Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim blinks. It sounds almost like … “Are you … are you giving me permission?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW IT'S SHORT! WHICH IS WHY I WILL POST ANOTHER CHAPTER ON TUESDAY. Which is also short. Sorry. But next Friday's update will be longer!

“So … you’re seeing Professor Spock.”

Jim’s starting to think Nyota Uhura is actively trying to kill him by asking intrusive questions when he’s trying to eat.

“I er, wouldn’t put it like that, exactly.”

Nyota raises an eyebrow. “You’re telling me he refused me just to _not_ date you?”

“We aren’t really putting a label on it yet, we haven’t even done anything— wait. He … turned you down for me?”

It was sort of implied, and he understood it in _theory_ , but to hear it confirmed by the goddess herself is something else entirely.

“Again, the dumbest genius ever, Kirk.” There’s no venom when she calls him by his last name anymore. “Listen, as much as I admire and like that green-blooded man, heed my words. _Don’t fuck it up._ For your sake, not mine.”

Jim blinks. It sounds almost like … “Are you … are you giving me permission?”

Nyota leans back in her chair with a perfectly arched eyebrow. “I still like him, so if you _do_ screw this up, I’ll come sweeping in to fix his Vulcan heart.”

“You _are_! I don’t … I mean, it sounds like you’re _selling_ him to me, which is stupid cause he’s his own person, I don’t _own_ him, no one does. I just like him. A lot. And I think he likes me too … so if that’s the way it is, then I’ll just … well, I’ll give it a shot. I don’t need _permission_ or anything like that. You’re not his keeper.”

Her eyes narrow.

“But it’s a good thing to have! Thanks!”

“For your sake, Kirk, I’m hoping you do well.”

So is Jim.


	64. Human Courting Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **date**
> 
> **_noun_ **
> 
> _a social appointment or engagement arranged beforehand with another person, especially when a romantic relationship exists or may develop._

It is, according to Spock’s research, customary for two people involved in a romantic relationship to go on “dates”.

After looking at numerous database for an appropriate definition given the circumstances, the one which applies most immediately is as follows:

**date**

**_noun_ **

_a social appointment or engagement arranged beforehand with another person, especially when a romantic relationship exists or may develop._

According to this definition, he believes he and Jim have gone on many “dates”. Their numerous chess games and meetings outside of school hours would indicate they are very good at “dating”. However, he acknowledges the man may not understand things the way Spock does, and decides he must arrange a “date” that cannot be misconstrued as anything other than what it is.

Which poses the problem of discovering just what humans find to be “romantic”.

The concept of romance is almost foreign on Vulcan. As a logical species, the most appropriate outing would be to go to a store where he could purchase something he requires to further his academic career.

The _romantic_ thing to do, according to the books he have read extensively to obtain a better grasp on the abstract concept, would be to have dinner at a restaurant which he cannot afford on his teacher salary, and eat shrimp with fancy forks. He doubts Jim would enjoy it, and would move his food around his plate until the meal ceased.

Unable to completely abandon his pragmatic origins, Spock considers other possibilities which are somewhere in the middle of romance and practically.

He meditates on this for perhaps longer than is considered normal, though it is hardly relevant so long as it will please Jim.

At 1600 hours, Spock has an epiphany.

He informs Jim via a well-composed e-mail that he will be visiting him at his dormitory, should he have no other obligations, at 2300 hours.

He receives an affirmative response.

Spock spends the next several hours trying to fight down the so-called “butterflies” in his stomach.


	65. Zero Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stars on his ceiling back home pale in comparison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Here to Mars by We The Kings is a totally good song to listen to during this chapter.

“Are you going to throw me off a cliff?”

“There would be no benefit in such an action.”

Jim snorts. “That’s not a no.”

At 23:00 on the dot, Spock knocked on his apartment door, and requested he ask no questions as the Vulcan instructed him to re-position his body in a way that was beneficial to him. They’ve been walking for a while, going down hallways and up stairs. Without his eyes, his mental map of the campus is pretty useless. It’s odd to be guided by a man who does not touch him, though he is grateful for the lack of contact.

Somehow, this feels more intimate than anything he’s done with any of his significant others (as fleeting as those were). Part of him is terrified he’s given Spock so much power over him, feels he’s on the precipice of something, something he dares not name for fear it’ll make it _real_. Pushing it aside, he focuses on the moment.

A breeze ruffles his hair. Is he outside? His shirt isn’t thick enough for this weather.

“You may remove the face covering.”

“It’s called a blindfold.” He takes off the ribbon that shields his eyes with a chuckle, but keeps his eyes closed. Breathing in deeply, he tries to get his bearings. “Don’t tell me where I am. I want to figure it out myself.”

“That would be unnecessary if you opened your eyes.”

“Hush you, I want to enjoy this.” Jim sticks a finger in his mouth and feels the wind. He reaches out with his arms, trying to feel around for anything. “Sorry if I accidentally grope you.” With a frown, he jumps up and down.

Solid ground.

But it doesn’t _feel_ that way.

Is he…?

“No way.”

“Have you collected a satisfactory amount of information to form a hypothesis?”

“We can’t be where I think we are.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement, as I do not know what you are thinking.”

Jim tilts his head upwards and opens his eyes.

“Holy shit …”

The ones who have bared witness to every major event in history, and every minor one too that make up the intricately woven blanket that covers earth leaves his breathless. The stories of the stars have always made him speechless.

It’s beautiful.

Here, on top of the Starfleet Observatory, they look close enough to touch. The stars on his ceiling back home pale in comparison.

“Are we allowed up here?”

Spock holds up an access key. “I had assumed this granted my access.”

“Are you supposed to be using your authority for dates?” asks Jim incredulously.

“I have come here on several occasions which are unrelated to business,” says Spock. “On certain nights, Vulcan is visible.”

“Can you show me?”

He knows, scientifically, no matter how high up he gets, the stars never get any closer, but he’s never felt so _surrounded_ by them. Though he’s acutely aware of the ground beneath his feet, he feels he could float away at any moment.

Spock gives him an impromptu astronomy lesson, showing him planets that aren’t visible from Iowa, and he in turn tells Spock the mythologies attached to each burning ball of gas we’ve called the stars.

“That’s Orion’s Belt.”

“It is not a belt.”

“I know, but you know. Imaginative humans and all.” Lying on his back, the cold cement of the roof grounds him to the moment. “Did I ever tell you about the Man on the Moon?”

“I do not believe so.”

“He’s an old fairy tale, I guess? Centuries ago, people thought they saw a face in the moon because of the way the craters were positioned. The story of the Man in the Moon eventually became the Man _on_ the Moon.” He chuckles softly. “I used to write to him, you know. The way other kids wrote to Santa, I write to a little alien.”

“What did you tell the Man on the Moon?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Please tell me, if you are adequately comfortable.”

Jim shrugs. “Everything. I wrote a lot in the summer, or when things got tough. I still write to him, even though I know he’s not real. I ask him questions. Things that seem too stupid and childish to bother asking in class.

“I told him to save room in his craters for me. That we’d play hide and seek in the stars. I’d ask him to take me away the next time he rose in the sky. Asked him if he’s ever touched a star, stuff like that.

“I remember the first time I wrote to him, I had so many things I wanted to say, so many questions, but I couldn’t find the words to say any of them.

“So I just told him not to be lonely. That I was coming.”

He turns to look at Spock to find the Vulcan is already looking at him. “It’s uh, kind of stupid.”

“Negative.”

They fall into silence.

There’s a beat and then—

“Are you aware of what a Sehlat is?”

Jim raises an eyebrow. “Those are pets right? Vulcan pets?”

“Correct. I had one. I-Chaya. He perished several years ago during my _Kahs-wan_ , a Vulcan coming-of-age ritual, saving me from a _le-matya_. I admit as a young child, I wrote letters to him, despite that he did not have the intelligence to read them, nor the ability to, as he was dead.”

Jim shifts, leaning on his elbow. “You were a strange child, weren’t you?”

“I apologize.”

“You shouldn’t. I like strange.” He grins. “You’re unique. That’s good. Guess we were both weirdoes. I think it’s admirable. I’m sorry you lost a pet, though.”

“Sentimentality towards a creature for experiencing the appropriate life-cycle is illogical.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t mourn.”

Obsidian eyes reflect the night sky, and water slightly. “It is irrelevant. _Kaiidth_.”

“I grieve with thee.”

Spock’s eyes widen a fraction. “That is unnecessary.”

“I’m human. We do lots of unnecessary things.”

_“Chaya t’not.”_

And it hits him.

That indescribable emotion that swells in his stomach and makes him dizzy and freaks him out just a little bit, while also calming him down simultaneously, making him a strange series of contradictions.

It’s love.

With the stars as his witness, the overseers of every instance of humanity’s stupidity and its genius, James Tiberius Kirk lets himself fall, unafraid.

After all, without gravity, there is no reason to fear the fall.


	66. The Wrong Term

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jim …”
> 
> Spock’s _crying_.

“You’re being awfully patient.”

Spock lifts a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “I do not understand what you are referring to.”

“I mean with me. With us. With the whole … no touching thing?” Jim wipes his hands on his pants as he eyes the chessboard.

He hasn’t mentioned the whole “love” thing. He’s pretty sure declaring something like that so early on in a non-physical relationship with a _Vulcan_ of all beings, is a big nono. Like neon lights flashing with 1000 Watt voltage nono. All the same, he wants to share his affection _somehow_ , even something as small as brushing his foot against Spock’s leg, but he gets too jumpy and paranoid about it.

“I dunno. Maybe you prefer it this way. You’re Vulcan, you’re all subtle with PDA and all that shit. Maybe it’s kind of good I’m traumatized.” His laugh is hollow to his own ears.

“I would not wish such a burden on you.” He sounds more serious than usual.

“Right.” The blond bites his lower lip, and moves his knight to the corner. “I just mean … I dunno. My other dates … they got really pissed when I didn’t … you know. Do stuff with them. They thought I was like … I dunno, telling them they were ugly? Or like, that they weren’t good enough for me, which is utter _bullshit_ , but we humans aren’t the most logical bunch.”

“Indeed.”

Jim plays with his pawn with distracted ease. “I should tell you. I know I should. It’s not fair to hold out on you, and not tell you why. I mean, unless you like that I’m keeping my hands to myself.”

They’ve been on four more formal dates (to an old bookstore in the middle of nowhere, but most likely houses one of the largest collections of paper books, to science laboratory 17 so Jim can watch Spock do his work, to the watch the sunset, and to the school library, watching some old chess matches on holovid, all secluded places that are quiet, and good for clearing his head. And people say Vulcans can’t do romance.) There have been a handful of lunches as well, and a few times they’ve caught in each other in the halls when going somewhere and stayed a little longer than anticipated. Through it all, he hasn’t been able to bring himself to touch Spock.

He trusts him, perhaps more than is healthy given the amount of power he has over him physically and mentally, but Gary’s ruined everything. The blond can barely bring himself to look the man he loves straight in the eye, and he loathes it.

“If you do not feel comfortable at the present time, there is no need to inform me of the circumstances which lead to this arrangement.”

“But you want to know.”

“As I have stated, it is up to you to divulge such information.”

“C’mon Spock. I thought Vulcans don’t lie. You’re dying to know, aren’t you?” Jim presses.

“My health has no correlation to any information you may be withholding from me.” Spock’s hand hesitates on his bishop. “But yes, I would like to know.”

Jim nods stiffly. “I … no one else was in the café.” Is he trembling? He feels like he’s trembling. He’s really hoping he doesn’t look as pathetic as he feels. “He just kind of … I mean, I think I knew he liked me. He kept telling me how hot I was, and stuff about my face … I thought it was just him being him, you know? Gary’s a flirt. That’s just his personality.

“But … Something happened. I don’t know what, maybe I lead him on? But he tried to touch me … I didn’t want him to. I told him no, but he was stronger than me and no one was around and … I don’t know, I thought this couldn’t be happening. I _know_ Gary. He isn’t like this. But then he …” Jim shrugs. It feels like a quake. “He called me some stuff. Some names I didn’t like and he mentioned …. he mentioned you. Said I was … oh my God, it was like, nearly _two months ago_ , and I’m still a fucking wreck over it … I just …”

Spock is silent, his gaze unwavering. It would be unnerving, but Jim needs to get it out. A normal person, he supposes, would be comforting at this point. Rubbing his arms and whispering things to him, but he’s glad Spock’s keeping his distance. He doesn’t know how he’d act. If he’d lash out and try to kick him, or if he’d just shut down completely. His presence is steady, like a grounding rock. It makes it easier to breathe.

“He called me … he called me a slut. And a whore. And I know, those words probably mean jackshit to you, but to me … It hurt. A lot. I’m sure he was angry, that he didn’t mean them, but it felt like he did, in that moment, and he said … he said I was choking for your alien dick, and I just …”

Jim will not cry. He _will not cry._

“I just was so _desperate_ to be liked, after thinking you were with Nyota, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how if you … if you offered me anything at that point, I would’ve taken it. No matter what the cost, I would’ve, and that … that makes me just what he said. It makes me a slut, it makes me … _dirty_ , and I don’t want to be that … I really don’t, but you’re here now with me and you’re being so _nice_ and you say you like me but I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming and this … This is all just an elaborate scheme my brain has worked up because I’m kind of fucked up like that.

“I’m so, _so_ fucked up Spock, you can’t even begin to imagine. I just … and I know a lot of it is inside my head and I think that just makes it worse? Because I _know_ there are things that shouldn’t bother me but they _do_ and if I could just switch them off I would but I can’t, I just _can’t_!”

Oh.

He’s crying.

Part of him hopes if he blinks at the right speed, the tears will go away. They don’t, because the world has never been so kind to him. So he tucks his chin into his chest and stares at the chess pieces on the board and wonders how the fuck he’s gotten this far only to fall so badly.

“Jim …”

There’s a beat.

“It’s not like you to leave a sentence hanging—”

The rest of his sentence traps itself in his throat.

Spock’s _crying_.

It’s quiet, silent, but the tear marks are evident on his cheeks.

“I grieve with thee,” he says.

“It’s _kaiidth_ ," says Jim. “What is, is, right?”

“Negative.” Spock reaches forward, only to pull back.Jim wants to chase after his touch, but can’t bring himself to. “It is what should have never been.” Why does he look so graceful with raindrop-shaped drops on his eyelids? “I am sorry.”

And it doesn’t sound like pity, or sympathy. It’s _genuine_ , and full of everything Spock doesn’t say, every bit of emotion Jim knows he feels but never shows.

“It is wrong,” continues Spock. “Jim, _t’hyla_ , you are not as it says.”

“It?”

“Gary Mitchell.” He spits out the name like venom.

Jim laughs the slightest bit. He hides his face in his knees. He’s an ugly crier.

“It does not deserve a pronoun which humanizes it,” says Spock. “James Tiberius Kirk, you are beautiful. You are kind and compassionate and very, _very_ human. You are the best the human race has to offer, and you should have never had to suffer as you have, but you are stronger now because of it.”

Jim snorts. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Feelings are subjective,” says the Vulcan. “Your strength is not.”

Jim wipes at his face with his sleeve and takes a deep breath that sounds a little too nasally to him. “Can we … can we just finish the game?”

“Affirmative. I believe it is your turn.”

And they go on playing as though the conversation never happened, but Jim feels lighter. So, so much lighter. Light enough to float and defy gravity.


	67. Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not like you need to defend my honour. I’m not some damsel in distress—”
> 
> “No,” says Nyota. “You’re a human, in pain.”

In the end, Jim sees Gary Mitchell two months and one week after the Incident with a bloody nose.

The cadet is hunched over, clutching his stomach, droplets of blood dripping onto the floor as Leonard McCoy shakes his wrist out with a smirk on his face that makes him look decades younger.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?”

Hikaru steps to the side slightly, moving out of the circle that’s formed around the former Galaxy Brew employee, a crumpled mess on the floor. “It was their idea,” he says, nodding to Bones, Nyota, Scotty and Spock.

“But—”

“No buts, Jim,” says Bones. “Once the courts take him, I can’t shove my fist up his ass, so let me get this out while I can, alright?”

“You’re a _doctor_!”

“Not yet!”

“No, he’s right,” says Nyota, putting a hand on Bones’ chest when he goes in for another swing. “You’ve done enough.” She bends down to the dark-haired man’s level and puts a hand underneath his chin, forcing him to look at her. He’s got a black eye and bruises. His nose hasn’t quite stopped dripping yet. It doesn’t look nearly as pretty as it does in movies.

“Hey there,” she says.

“Nyota, you _bitch_ —”

“Ah yes, _I’m_ a bitch,” she hums. “Want to rethink that statement, Mitchell?”

“I swear, when I—”

“When you what?” Nyota grins, and it looks _evil_. Smug. Satisfied. “Listen to me, and listen to me good. You’re not going to even _look_ at Jim, and if you so much as _think_ the name James Tiberius Kirk, there’ll be an army at your door.

“Now I _could_ hurt you. I _could_ let Len have another go at your face, if you’re willing to risk it. But I’m not going to do that. Do you know why?”

“Enlighten me.”

Nyota pinches the side of his cheeks, forcing Gary’s lips to purse. “You’re not worth it. Len’s got a bright future ahead of him, and he sure as fuck ain’t gonna waste it on you. So how about you scram before the doctor over here has to prescribe you enough pain meds to get you as high as a kite, yeah?”

“You’re just some girl—”

“Wrong.” Nyota runs her fingers along the side of his face, her nails scrapping against his cheek. “I’m a woman.”

_SMACK._

Jim never knew a bitch-slap could be so graceful.

“Take him away, Scotty, before I crack his skull open.”

“Aye.”

Gary Mitchell is carted away and Jim can do nothing but stare.

“W-what did you guys do to him?”

“Only what he deserve,” says Pavel. “You mad?”

“I’m in shock.” Jim turns to Spock. “I thought Vulcans were pacifists?”

“There are exceptions to every rule.”

“What the fuck were you guys thinking?” Jim demands, because it’s easier to focus on that instead of the raw satisfaction at seeing Gary Mitchell’s face look like a badly flipped minced-meat patty. “You could be suspended, or _expelled_ , or—”

“It was worth it,” says Bones, wiping at the blood on his knuckles. “That … that _thing_ disrespected you, Jim.”

“It’s not like you need to defend my honour. I’m not some damsel in distress—”

“No,” says Nyota. “You’re a human, in pain.”

The cadet doesn’t know what to say to that, so he’s quiet. Bones starts mumbling about bloodstains and the washer. Hikaru and Pavel clean up the bloody mess Gary left on the floor, and Jim takes a seat at a small table, trying to process _what the fuck_ just happened.

A while later, Bones joins him.

“You alright, Kid?”

“Fine,” he says distractedly.

“Wasn’t it _you_ that said fine is unacceptable?”

Jim scoffs. “The Vulcan rubbing off on you?”

“He’s growing on me,” the doctor admits. “You know I’d do it again in a heartbeat, yeah? You’re my best friend. I’ll take whatever hits I need for you. We’re brothers.”

Jim grins softly. “I know.”

Bones nods, laying his hands on the table. “So listen, I know this isn’t exactly a conversation you want to have, but you gotta know what’s going to happen here on out. The papers have been filled out, we just need to send them in, and he’ll be gone. We waited a little, just to figure out what we were gonna do before we handed him over. Still don’t think we did enough—”

“I think you broke his nose.”

“He’ll be lucky if that’s the only thing I broke.” Bones scratches his neck. “I know it was kind of … dickish to go behind your back and all that, but we figured you wouldn’t let us do it otherwise.”

“You’re right.”

Doing something like this … it feels like sinking to Gary’s level. There’s no denying his satisfaction at seeing the blood drip down the cadet’s face though.

“Listen, we were just trying to do what was best for you—”

“I’m the only one who knows what’s best for me.”

The med student raises an eyebrow.

“You’re running on like, 4 hours of sleep, and your shirt is inside out. Sometimes it’s okay to let other people take over, you know. We have your best interest in mind, and it helps that we’re not in the thick of it, you know?

“We didn’t consult you, and that was wrong, but we did it because we care about you. Also, he was a shitty employee. Part of that broken nose is retribution for his lazy ass when he had the closing shift.”

Jim snorts.

Bones cracks the slightest smile. “But the point is, you won’t have to deal with him again. At most, you’ll be called to testify at his trial, but otherwise? This time next year you’re gonna be literal _galaxies_ away from him and he’ll be some half-remembered face.”

They both know it’s a lie.

Gary Mitchell has scarred Jim in a way that will impact him forever. It’s nice to hear it though, to believe it for a moment.

“Also. About your boyfriend?”

“We haven’t exactly spoken about it yet …. didn’t want to put labels …”

“Either way, he’s a good guy. Be good to him, okay?”

Jim raises an eyebrow. “Are you … are you telling me to treat Spock well? _You_? Mr. He’s a Hobgoblin?”

“Like I said, he’s growing on me. Like an irritating fungus, but still growing.”

And then Jim laughs.

It feels like the first real laugh he’s had in a long time, but he knows it won’t be the last.

“I’m glad.”


	68. Cultural Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought you just said— oh, you sneaky bastard.”
> 
> “As I am the result of a monogamous marriage, I fail to see how the term— it is a part of human vernacular, correct?”

“C-can I kiss you?”

Spock blinks.

Gary Mitchell has been put away for approximately a week. Not wanting to pressure Jim beyond what he is comfortable with, he has made no move to further their physical relationship. Now, he sits across from Jim’s 3D chess board, and realizes this is about to change.

“Affirmative.”

The human method of kissing is illogical, and he does not understand it. However, as Jim is human, it is likely he wishes to engage in human activities, and so he has done the appropriate research to make him sufficiently educated to complete the task adequately.

Spock straightens his back and begins to lean in when Jim lifts his hand, offering two of his fingers.

The two “freeze”, as the humans say.

Jim laughs nervously. “I uh, I meant …” He wiggles his fingers.

Spock’s eyes widen a fraction.

“A Vulcan kiss?”

“Um, yeah.” The blond is flushed. He is embarrassed. “I thought it would … make you more comfortable. I don’t expect you to suddenly like physical contact or anything,” Jim says hastily. “And I … I wanted to try it.”

Spock blinks.

“We don’t have to. Though, if you were to kiss me, I’d recommend you do it with your eyes closed, cause um, it’s kind of awkward if you keep them open the whole time. I um …” He wipes his hands on his shirt. “Never mind, my hands are really clammy anyway, let’s just do it the human— oh, okay.”

Spock presses the tips of Jim’s offered fingers to his own. They are indeed, “clammy”, as Jim puts it, their digits brushing against each other and nearly sliding off with the amount of perspiration. Jim is shaking.

Despite Spock’s raised shields, the blond’s emotions brush up against his walls, a slight impression making its way through.

_Confusion. Amazement. Awe. Contentment._

When they pull apart their fingers, Jim is pink. Spock is more green than usual.

“Is it uh, is it weird that I think that was more intimate than any kiss I’ve had with one of my past girlfriends?”

“It is not surprising,” says Spock. “The act of kissing a Vulcan is much more emotionally charged than ordinary human kisses. This is due to the mental component, as Vulcans are touch telepaths.”

“Makes sense.”

“Do you find it unsettling to know that through this form of contact, I may intrude on your personal thoughts?”

Jim tilts his head to the side slightly, a sign he is thinking about it. This is good. Spock would not trust an immediate answer. “I mean, I could always shield, right? If you taught me how. I kind of like the idea of someone knowing what I’m thinking when I can’t articulate it properly though. Specially around you.”

“Would you care to indulge in a kiss?” Spock asks.

Jim’s eyebrows crease in confusion. “Did we not just …?”

“No. What we have just done is the human equivalent of hand holding. May I?”

Jim holds out his hand to Spock.

The Vulcan raises his palm to the cadet with his fingers spread. Jim does the same. Their fingertips touch. Jim has truly disgusting fingernails, bitten from worry and stress. Spock gently runs his thumb along the curve between Jim’s thumb and forefinger. The blond watches, transfixed. Hesitantly, he runs his own thumb along Spock’s wrist.

“Did you not say it is awkward to keep your eyes open?”

Jim chuckles nervously. “I …” His forefinger slips off of Spock’s. He pulls his hand away. “It’s … weird.”

“Unpleasant?”

“No, just … different. I like it. I think I like it more than human kisses.” He shrugs. “I can’t explain it, it’s just …” He takes Spock’s hand in his own again and runs his thumb where Spock had ran his previously. “It feels … intimate. Like I can kind of feel you, brushing up against my own mind, but there’s like a sensory overload in my fingers.” He grins shyly. “Was it … good?”

“Good?”

“I mean … uh, did you like it? I don’t know … I don’t know how to tell if Vulcan kisses are good. My last girlfriend told me I was pretty bad at it. The kissing thing. The _human way_ , I’ve never done this before, obviously, I uh … oh God, I’m totally ruining the mood, aren’t I?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “If you are asking whether or not I find the experience of kissing you to be unpleasant, the response is negative.”

Jim lets out a sigh of relief. “I was worried there for a second.”

“You have no cause for worry,” Spock assures him. “However, I do wish to mention that practice is not a terrible thing.”

“I thought you just said— oh, you sneaky bastard.”

“As I am the result of a monogamous marriage, I fail to see how the term— it is a part of human vernacular, correct?”

Jim chuckles nervously. “I, erm …”

Spock kisses him. The human way.

The Vulcan’s own mouth intercepts a gasp of surprise. It does not take long for the human to “melt into it”, as the romance novels Spock read in preparation for this moment refer to it.

Spock has never understood the purpose of human kisses, until James T. Kirk.

When they pull apart, despite it not being a strenuous activity, Jim is flushed. Spock assumes his own face has a similar appearance.

“Was it satisfactory?”

“Satisfactory?” Jim echoes with a light chuckle. “Fuck yeah it was.” His mind echoes his words.

“I apologize for not requesting permission,” says Spock, biting his lower lip. A habit he must have picked up from the human before him. The lip that Jim has touched. He will need to mediate an additional three hours tonight.

“No, it’s … it’s fine,” says the blond, sounding breathless. “Can … can I …?”

Spock kisses him in response, their hands clasped together tightly in the Vulcan tradition, their lips connected in the way of humans.


	69. Photograph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you just take a picture of me?”

Dating Spock is … well, there aren’t really words for it.

It’s not what he was expecting, not that Jim really knew what that was. They’re slow at becoming physical. Touches are light and fleeting, and they don’t kiss like they did that first time. They don’t hold hands in public either, though surprisingly due to Jim’s protests, not Spock’s.

It feels too intimate, too _private_ to share with others.

With Gary gone, it’s like he can _breathe_ again and fully appreciate the relationship he has with Spock, which is wonderful. Fridays have become date night, which they’re spending in Spock’s apartment this week.

Jim’s setting up the board for a new game of chess when Spock tugs him by the sleeve of his shirt. “Hey, what are you doing?” Jim laughs, following the Vulcan as he leads him off the couch. He tries to interlace their fingers, to feel that strange rush that happens when they kiss the Vulcan way, but Spock pulls away and he realizes they’re in the Vulcan’s bathroom.

In front of the mirror.

Instinctively, he tries to hide himself away, disappear into his Starfleet Academy sweatshirt, but Spock’s hands are on his shoulders and force him to stay as he is. He looks up at the ceiling and begins counting the tiles.

“Jim.”

“Spock, please. Don’t. I can’t …” Jim shakes his head.

“Look ahead, Jim.”

“Please don’t make me,” he whispers. Begs. He hates himself.

Spock wraps his fingers in Jim’s, rubbing his thumb soothingly along Jim’s lifeline. It sends shivers down his spine, and he almost forgets where they are.

“Jim, I wish to conduct an experiment.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look in the mirror. We will look at each other.”

Jim squeezes his eyes shut and faces forward. Slowly, he opens his eyes. Spock stands behind him, just slightly taller. He’s beautiful, as always. Jim looks like a lump, as always.

“I do not find my eyebrows to be satisfying,” says Spock.

“W-what?”

“I said that I do not find my eyebrows to be satisfying, aesthetically.”

“B-but they’re amazing!” Jim says. “They’re your main way of expression! Like, depending on the degree of elevation you could be pissed off, or amused, or neutral, and it’s like … I dunno, it’s unique to you. I like them. I like all of you,” he finishes with a sputter of embrassement and pink tinged cheeks.

“It is your turn. Tell me something you are not satisfied with, aesthetically.”

He sees where Spock’s going with this, and while he appreciates the sentiment, it doesn’t work that way. You can’t just erase years of insecurities with a soothing voice and some Vulcan kisses.

“I can’t.” _I can’t hear you confirm everything I think of myself._

“Tell me, Jim. One thing. Please.”

“… I … I think my freckles are stupid.”

Spock nods.

“Can we please stop? Please?”

“Negative. Remain here.” Spock leaves and Jim is forced to stare at his own reflection, with all its imperfections. With all its flaws, so blatantly out in the open. But this isn’t his home. He can’t tape up the mirror, or punch it, or anything else that’s childish and stupid and should be above someone his age.

Spock returns with his PADD.

“Do not move.”

The Vulcan lifts the PADD up. There’s a quiet _click_.

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

“You may sit, but do not leave the room,” says Spock.

Jim does, sitting on the top of the toilet seat cover. He hums _Eight Days a Week_ under his breath while he waits, glad he doesn’t have to face his own complexion.

Spock hands him the PADD a few minutes later.

There are lines all across his face, in every direction, like an elaborate game of connect the dots.

“W-what is this?”

“Ursa major,” says Spock, pointing to the lines near Jim’s nose.“Orion’s belt.” Jim’s cheek. “Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, though it is technically a binary star.” Just beneath Jim’s left eye. “Gemini. Aries. Vulcan.” With each word, he points to another set of lines.

“I don’t …”

“All which sends adventurers to the stars can be found on your person. James Tiberius Kirk, you are the centre of the metaphysical galaxy you carry. You are the brazen sun which gives life to all inhabitants of said galaxy, shining brighter than any star.”

“You know, technically, _water_ is what sustains most lifeforms in space.”

“I am aware,” says Spock, his voice soft and fond and probably showing much more emotion than it should. “Vulcan has no tides and numerous suns. The heat is overbearing and we are often instructed, much like humans, to avoid looking directly into the light for it causes harm to our eyes.

“Jim, you are metaphorically brighter than the suns of Vulcan. Looking at you does not hurt at all. Rather, it is enjoyable to an inexpressible degree.”

“Spock …”

“Yes, Jim?”

“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

Spock does him one better. He kisses Jim.


	70. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s actually _here_.

He’s here.

He’s actually _here_.

He’s far from the young man who could barely string a few sentences together in front of a certain Vulcan, clocking in nearly 50 hours a week and falling asleep with a textbook pressed against his cheek.

It’s not just him though. They’ve _all_ come so far.

Nyota Uhura is no longer a pretty girl who spoke with venom on her tongue. She is a beautiful woman who proudly stands by his side, wearing the appropriate colours of her department.

Leonard McCoy is officially certified for space travel, and though he’s lost things along the way, from his wife to a properly functioning liver, he’s gained so much as he wears his blue shirt proudly.

Montgomery Scott’s got an engineering degree under his belt and is ready to create a warp drive that’s never been imagined before.

And Jim?

As he settles down into the chair that always seemed too big to ever fill and smiles at the crew around him, who have all come so far with him, he feels better than fine.

He started his Starfleet journey alone, but this one is far from that.

He leans back, feeling the material beneath his fingers and grins.

“Captain James Tiberius Kirk’s log, stardate 1312.4. With my First Officer, Mr. Spock, the USS Enterprise is prepared to begin its maiden voyage on its 5 year mission to explore new worlds, seek out new life and new civilizations, and most importantly, to boldly go where no man has gone before.”

 

 

I KNOW, I KNOW THIS WAS SHORT AND ANTI-CLIMACTIC, BUT I SUCK AT ENDINGS! I’ve been thinking about writing a one-shot about the other dates Jim and Spock went on, but yeah, this is it.

Okay this is going to be long. For those who don’t care/aren’t interested in the writing process, you can skim after this, and I’ve created lovely headings for you to navigate your way through the longest chapter of Latte, which is technically not a chapter.

**TO THE READERS**

Thank you. I was very hesitant to write this story, and wasn’t sure where it was going for a long time. _Star Trek_ is an old fandom with a lot of lore and characters to sift through, and I feared I’d fuck up. I have, to this day, seen maybe 15 episodes of _Star Trek TOS_ , and a few haphazard scenes from AOS. I’m slow at watching. I have read more fics than I’ve seen content and that made me insanely nervous to write this story, never mind publish but you have all been super nice about it! Including accepting of indulgent chapters which existed because I wanted to debate Starfleet regulations or discuss philosophy or geek out over a short story I have never technically read. So thank you for reading and enjoying it. I really loved this experience, and have a few more questions for you, if you choose to answer them in your final comment, which you don’t have to answer and as I write this I feel more and more like a schoolteacher but here we go:

What did you like?

What didn’t you like?

Do you have a favourite chapter and why?

Did anything make you cry? Anything make you laugh?

Favourite moment/line/instance/theme (if you noticed themes)?

I’m taking a slight break from _Star Trek_ to focus on a story for an anime fandom but will be back with "mostly void, partially stars", whose link is here:

Thank you again, so much!

**THE PROCESS**

When I started writing this fic, I had no idea what I was doing. I still don’t really know what I’m doing. My thoughts are nicely reflected in the tags, yeah? My actual first summary for this fic in my notes is:

_Ways to flirt with Vulcans (or try to): writing down your number on his bill, bluntly tell him, respect his space by using napkins to avoid direct physical contact, attempt to say his Vulcan name,_

I went through a lot of outlines and dropped a lot of ideas and swapped out scenes and then changed them and rewrote them and then threw them away entirely.

But around chapter 24, I realized the story I wanted to tell.

I wanted to tell the kind of story _Star Trek_ is for me, and what it represents to me. Hope. Hope that one day, racial divides will cease to exist, and we can come together over something other than war. That we can bond and overcome adversity for reasons other than threats to our lives.

 _Star Trek_ deals with a lot of things that I find are important and are addressed differently in modern media. In modern media you KNOW they’re talking about the "me too” movement, or racial profiling and while that’s great what I love about _Star Trek_ is that no one questions it. It presents you a utopia of sorts (with its own problems, mostly the assimilation of most alien species to an Earth standard), and it’s normal for them. No one questions why Uhura, a beautiful woman of colour, is on the bridge and as authoritative as Kirk, seen as an equal in terms of gender and race. It’s just accepted, because it’s normal in their world. And that’s really important to me.

Writing this fic I wanted to tackle humanity. I wanted to write about raw emotions and self-doubt and acceptance and grief and coming to terms with things. So I wrote about Jim.

I modelled Jim partly after myself (fascination with stars, nervous wreck, awkward, perfectionist who runs himself dry), but also because it’s a Jim I don’t find often in fics. There aren’t many fics that talk about Jimmy Kirk, the boy who was devoted to his studies and worked hard and was so excited to have his own ship. Kirk was created with the intention of being a great man, but a lonely one, who understands his higher rank and how that isolated him from everyone else, no matter how much he pretends it doesn’t. He can treat them as an equal but they do not see him as equal because he is their higher authority. He is a man married to a ship, and that makes finding real company hard. It’s why he’s basically only got 2 friends, despite his clearly extroverted personality.

I wanted to write about Jim struggling with insecurity and doubt, wanted to show a Jim who didn’t have confidence, I wanted to show a Jim who BECAME confident, and I feel I have, in some ways.

I wanted to write about Jim and Spock’s relationship, and why it’s special to me on a level beyond just _t’hyla_. Because Jim treats Spock as an equal, and he IS. In that case, it really doesn’t matter that he’s captain. Spock, Who has never fit in with humans or Vulcans is finally accepted and embraced exactly as he is. Jim respects him. I’m convinced he’s the ONLY one who respects him. He lets Spock do his own thing, trusts him to make the right choices, worries for his well-being over Starfleet orders, and teases him playfully. He plays chess with him like an equal and never feels intimated or stupid when compared to Spock’s Vulcan intellect. He will defend him against the clear racist parallel of Spock being an alien, which is a clear call to xenophobia. And Spock is free to be whoever he is with Jim, Who never asks him to be more than he is or less. Which is really what chapter 48 was about.

I wanted to show an outsider’s POV of Kirk, which is where Nyota comes in. I wanted to show character growth, and she’s one that I’m very proud of. She was never designed to be a rival to Kirk and Spock’s relationship, she was designed to be someone who learnt to appreciate Kirk as a person and respected him in a different way. She doesn’t treat him gently, treats him as a genuine threat to her relationship with Spock, and can admit when she and Spock won’t be together, Jim is not someone she hates, or blames.

Gary was created to show gaslighting, for one thing. His subtle comments reveal his abuse has been around far earlier than others may have seen, and he’s just bad. He’s toxic, and Jim leaving him and getting support from new friends show his development into a healthier stage of his life.

Bones and Kirk have a real brotherhood that I thought was important. They are soulmates in whatever sense you want, at the very least platonically. He poses as a father figure as well as a brother and friend simultaneously and I think that’s super important. Kirk interacts with him differently, and I wanted that to show.

Amanda Grayson was a character I hadn’t intended on putting in the story, but who fascinated me greatly. She and Sarek’s relationship is one I thought was super important. She’s someone who is human, yet feels like an outsider looking in. There are sacrifices she made for her husband in the name of love, and I believe there are 3 types of Vulcan:

There are Vulcan like T’Pring, who see humans as fascinating creatures who are rather illogical and either dismiss them, or consider them inferior.

There is Sarek, who see humans and find fascination and in his attempt to examine more closely, to get a better hold, he may have held on too tightly, and now regrets his actions though he loves Amanda deeply, he mourns for her human side he feels he may have crushed unintentionally.

And then there is Spock, who sees humans. Who encounters those who are good and those who are bad, and takes them as a whole and he loves them. As they are, illogical as they are, for their faults and their brains and their emotions and would hate to touch it, to force them to conform to Vulcan ideology and restrain that light.

Chapter 41 was important to me because I wanted to point out how people who say they are okay and look okay are often times not. It was important to me that Kirk was layered and so what you saw was not what ou got.

Writing about Kirk’s anxiety and concerns was therapeutic for me, trying to put words to how I feel about school and grades and the general education system. It was also wonderful to write chapter 46, Starman, to explain how passionate I am about the stars, the way I see Kirk, the way I see myself in terms of my perspective and thoughts on space.

Writing about Spock and Bones’ relationship was complicated. I wanted Bones to be a person who was unintentionally racist, and came to realize he was wrong. That’s how I wrote him, how I intended to write him.

In general Kirk’s character is meant to reflect the impact you have on others, and the impact others have on you.

I started writing a story about coffee. I ended up writing a story that, in my opinion, is about friendship and compassion, hurt and confusion, love and loss and recovery and battling inner demons.

I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to check out the first chapter of my new Star Trek story, which I'll be starting in a few months, [here it is](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16202951/chapters/37868858)
> 
> Come chat with me on my [Tumblr](https://setkia.tumblr.com/)!  
> Or e-mail me setkia.writer@gmail.com!
> 
> I love talking to readers, seriously! Aside from time differences causing a delay, I'll always reply!

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on my [Tumblr](https://setkia.tumblr.com/)!  
> Or e-mail me setkia.writer@gmail.com!
> 
> I love talking to readers, seriously! Aside from time differences causing a delay, I'll always reply!


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